


Fire and Ice (Student!Lock AU)

by Dragonsong3



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: BAMF John, Biphobia, Drug Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Highschool AU, Homophobia, Jealousy, John gets dissowned, M/M, Military Kink, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Near Death Experiences, Running Away, Sherlock's scared of water, Sleepovers, Studentlock, Teenlock, Violence, because he's bi, enjoy, expelled from school, this fic is a fucking ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsong3/pseuds/Dragonsong3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting expelled from his Military School, John Watson starts 6th Form in what students claim to be "The worst school in Britain". Hoping he could get a normal education after what he's already been through, he makes friends with a fellow Year 13 student named Sherlock Holmes- a mysterious, yet undeniably brilliant boy with an amazing mind.<br/>After saving him from getting beaten up, the two quickly form an incredibly close relationship, who start off as friends and end up into something much more..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title 'Fire and Ice' is a reference to John's fiery personality and Sherlock's icy personality, and how they're both polar opposites.
> 
> More chapters coming up, hope you enjoy :)

 

Fire and Ice – Chapter 1

 

On the very first day of the new school year, a loud ring echoed across the school corridors, indicating that all students from Year 7 to Year 13 had to get to their classrooms for the first day; most of the students already knew exactly where they were supposed to go, and were in and out of the corridors within a few moments. Only a few students were still in the corridors, looking at where to go.

 

A young boy of 17 looked around frantically; this was the first day of an actual 'normal' high-school and he didn't want to screw it up and be known as a kid who was unpunctual. The corridors seemed to go on forever and the boy had no idea where to go. He was supposed to go the 6th Form common room, where he would find the office for the 6th formers and get his timetable for the week, but he had no luck.

 

_'This can't be good..'_ He thought with a anxious flutter in his stomach. He spun around and began to walk backwards, hoping to make sense of one of the most confusing schools he had ever been to.

 

He was abruptly stopped when someone behind him banged into him, who gave an annoyed growl at him. The boy spun around quickly, biting his lip in embarrassment,

 

"I-I'm sorry!" He apologised hastily, trying to swallow but his throat was snapped shut. He looked at the boy he bumped into and the first thing he noticed was his teal-blue eyes which were glistening the the late-summer sunlight coming through the windows, then his dark brown curls which reacted to any kind of movement with a small bounce. The dark haired boy shot him a disgruntled glare,

 

"Well, maybe if you weren't walking backwards in a corridor, I'd believe you.." He growled irritably.

 

"Sorry.." The lighter haired boy apologised again quietly, looking down at the floor. This was officially the worst start of a school year in his whole life. He studied his bright white trainers for a moment and dared himself to subtly glance back up at the blue eyed boy, who's annoyed stare was soon replaced by a look of.. Admiration? Wait, _what!?_

 

"However, I suppose we all make mistakes on the first days of school," He stated, standing up a little taller. He studied the shorter boy for a brief moment before asking, "So tell me, how does a kid from the _Wolveston Military Academy_ end up in one of the worst High-schools in Britain?"

 

The short boy gave a small shrug, "Well, it's kind of a long story-" He broke off when he realised what the boy asked and shot him a very surprised glance, "W-Wait, how did you know I came from that school? Are you one of the teaching assistants or something?"

 

"Hah! They _wish_ they had someone of my intelligence working for this shit-hole of a school!" The boy scoffed in a cocky tone.

 

"So.. So _how?_ "

 

"You mean apart from the obvious?"

 

" _'Apart from the-'_ " The boy growled in annoyance, his temper quickly raising, "Do I have a note on my back saying _'I came from the fucking Military'_ or something!?"

 

"Alright, alright. Don't get stressed with me!" The tall boy raised his hand in mocking defence, much to the other boy's annoyance. How stubborn could a guy get? The blue-eyed stranger cleared his throat before carrying on, "Well, your haircut and your posture when you walk says-"

 

He was interrupted with the second school bell, which warned students that lessons were about to start. The boy sighed and latched his hand onto the strap of his bi-coloured shoulder bag,

 

"Never mind, I've got to go to Psychology," He muttered, clearly miffed. He thought for a second, staring into the distance before glancing back at the navy-blue hoddied boy, "But tell me your name and I'll get back to you, if I don't forget half way through the day.."

 

The boy hesitated before answering the question, "John. John Watson." He answered, his slate-blue gaze staring up at the curly-haired boy, "2nd year 6th Former.."

 

"Really? You're about as short as a Year 10.." He replied bluntly, walking past John without so much as a goodbye.

 

"Rude.." John breathed under his breath, sighing tensely from his nose.

 

"Whatever, say what you want. Later John!" He flicked his hand behind his shoulder dismissively, but didn't look behind him.

 

" _Seriously?_ Can't you even tell me _your_ name? Or even where the Common Room is?"

 

The boy stopped and looked behind his shoulder, he raised his eyebrow with a mischievous grin on his face,

 

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the Common Room is down the corridor in room 22.1." He gave a click from his mouth and winked before walking off again, walking through the double doors in-front of him.

 

John froze where he was for a second, trying to process what just happened.

 

"Umm.. O-OK?" He stammered awkwardly, before walking back down the corridor in hopes of finding '22.1'. So the first person he had ever met in his brand new school was an arrogant, _unbelievably_ blunt boy who seemed to know secrets about John that were impossible to know. He was strange to say the least, and yet..

 

And yet there was something about him that made John wonder..

 

He felt like there was something more to that Sherlock kid. Something that made John feel an unknown kind of connection towards him, as if he knew him from a past life, or in an alternative universe..

 

He had no idea what it was, or where it would take him, but he felt determined to find out who exactly 'Sherlock Holmes' was..

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Sherlock again at break and finally learns about the amazing talent that stranger possessed.

 

After taking at least 5 minutes to find it, John finally found the Common Room at last. He opened the large, glass doors of 22.1 and was immediately hit with the quite chaos of chatter, there were about a dozen other 6th Formers in there; either taking the time to read through their timetables or reading any books they brought.

Hoping not to catch too much attention, John walked through the room and tried to not bump into anyone again. He noticed how almost everything in the room was there to benefit students; there was a large collection of books on the book shelf, both fiction and non-fiction. Cushioned sofas, chairs and desks were in rows along the wall, even a few Vending Machines were in the corners. There were several - 15 to be exact - computers dotted in a orderly line with a printer beside them. Just opposite the computers was a counter with a sliding glass window above it with a lamented sign beside it reading '6th Form office', John could see there were a few people on the other-side of the window, sorting out pieces of paper. He carefully knocked on the sliding window and was answered by a man who only looked a few years older than John himself, looked about 19 at the most, and had short, black-and-dark grey hair.

 

"Can I help you?" The man asked, blinking down at John.

 

John cleared his throat before speaking, "My name's John Watson, 6th Former. I was told I had to come here for my Timetable and planner.."

 

The man froze for a second, studying John for a brief heartbeat, but then closed his eyes and smirked,

 

"Ah, I remember now. The Headteacher told me there was a new 6th Former coming today," He recalled. He opened his eyes and looked at John with his cheerful, tawny-brown gaze, "My name is Greg Lestrade and I'm one of the 6th Form prefects. Hang on here for a moment and I'll get you your timetable."

 

John nodded while Greg rummaged through a folder, carefully flicking through the of the labels until he brought out a file with the name _'John Hamish Watson'_ on it. He opened the file and took out a school timetable and what looked like an assessment profile- ( _'Probably the last one that came from my old school..'_ John figured) - Greg slowly walked back towards John while reading the profile, his facial expression was unreadable, which made John's heart race uncomfortably.

 

"Right, here's your Timetable from Monday to Friday, and..." He quickly rummaged through a different draw and brought out a think-ish, A5 binded notepad with the words  _'Homework and Revision Planner'_ on the light blue front cover, ".. And here's a planner for you- It's got a calender in it for you to note down your homework, when you have tests and whatever, along with a page to stick in your timetable and a page that goes along the school rules and stuff, not that anybody goes by them.."

 

"Thank you, Sir."

 

"Prefects are technically students, so we're called by our names."

 

"Ok, thank you, Greg," John corrected himself. He checked the first slot he had for Mondays and noticed that he had a double free-period until after break where he had double Biology. John enjoyed all the sciences, but he liked Biology the most and studied vigorously for it, especially since he wanted to become a doctor when he grew up. He walked away and sat down of one of the cushioned doubled-chairs in the room, he glanced around and saw that nobody really noticed him too much. He took his bag off his shoulder and rummaged through until he found the book he was reading over the summer; he only had a few chapters to go and he wanted to see how it finished as soon as possible.

 

"I suppose this school isn't too bad," He mumbled quietly to himself, focusing on reading the book in front of him, "As long as I don't run into trouble, I think I'll be OK.."

 

 

\---

 

John wasn't aware how fast time flew when another school bell rang. John checked his watch and read  _'10:45am'_ , which meant it was break time for all the students. John didn't get up from his seat, instead, he carried on reading. He was so close to the ending and he  _had_ to find out how it ended. He didn't even realise that someone was trying to call for him,

 

"..Excuse me? Anyone there?.."

 

John's mind snapped back to reality, he looked up and saw Sherlock standing in front of him with a book in his hand and a bored - and slightly irritated - look on his face,

 

"Awake at last, are we? I was asking if you were saving that place for anyone," He stated, flicking his hand at the seat next to John, "Or would it be OK if I sat there?"

 

"Oh, sure, go ahead. Sorry.."

 

"Don't worry about it," He mumbled, sitting down and reading his book immediately. The slightly awkward silence seemed to go on for hours, John was about to try speak but Sherlock beat him to it,

 

"Um.. Listen," He spoke in a quiet voice, as if he didn't want other people to hear him, "You know.. I don't have to sit here, I-If you don't want me to.."

 

"Why? Am I bothering you or something? Because if I am.." He trailed off awkwardly, but Sherlock shook his head,

 

"No, it's not that. You're fine and all.." He stayed quiet for a second, fidgeting the book in his large, slender hands, ".. But if you're new, then you don't want to get a reputation as someone who sits near a _'Freak'_ .." He spat out the last word bitterly, as if he didn't think he was actually a freak, but that's what others called him.

 

John blinked in puzzlement, "Why would I think you were a freak? You seem alright to me.."

 

Sherlock studied him for a moment, keeping silent for a brief moment before sitting up straight, "Do you really want to know how I found out you were from a military school?"

 

"Yes, please! It's been bothering me all morning!"

 

Sherlock cleared his throat and took a deep breath from his mouth, before turning to John, "First of all, your posture when you walked through school were the first clues which stated you came from a school with tough discipline, you've clearly been there for many years if it's now your casual walk as well. Your haircut shows that it was a  _military_ school instead of just any tough school- All military schools have the same haircut for boys. So we've sussed out that you're from the military, but which one? Your face is well tanned but there is no tan below the neck line, meaning that you've been outside during the summer but not sunbathing, not to mention the fact that your muscles are almost ripping through your hoodie and  _nobody_ actually works out during the summer holidays, so there's only one Military Academy in Britain which is strict enough to hold classes over the summer and have PE on a daily basis which is, of course,  _Wolveston Military Academy_ . So there, that's how I knew .."

 

Sherlock quickly turned back to his book, but John could see that his eyes were glistening with anxiety and how he licked his lips nervously.

John could barely find any words to fully describe what he had just heard,

 

"That.. Was.." He began, still in shock after what Sherlock said, " _Amazing!_ "

 

Sherlock shot John a surprised stare, as if he didn't believe what John actually said. He squinted his eyes slightly,

 

"You..You really think so?" He asked, almost suspiciously.

 

"Yes, defiantly!" John exclaimed, a small smile forming across his face, "I've never seen anyone do _that_ before! It was absolutely fantastic!"

 

Sherlock blushed and rubbed his neck with his hand, "Well, it's a pretty unique talent," He stared at the ground with embarrassment, biting his lower lip, "Actually, my brother can do it.. But he's not as good as me.."

 

He glanced up at John with a shy smile on his face, "Did you say John was your name?" He asked.

 

"Yeah, and you're Sherlock, right?"

 

Sherlock nodded, his cheeks were still lightly flushed with a tint of red. John wondered if Sherlock received many compliments of his talent if he was flustered to easily about it, but why would anyone make fun of him for it? It was one of, if not  _the_ , cleverest thing John had ever seen.

 

"You know.. You're not bad, John.." Sherlock remarked, but his eyes glinted with something other than anxiety. However, John didn't know what it was.

 

 

The two carried on talking through out the rest of break about numerous things- Any pets they had, Sherlock's psychology lesson, what they picked for A-Levels and other things. It was going smoothly, until the topic of John's old school came up again,

 

"So why did you change schools, anyway? Did you get bored of it after a while?"

 

"Well.. Not exactly.." John muttered awkwardly, glancing down at the floor, but could feel Sherlock's gaze burning with interest, "I.. Err.. Kinda got expelled.."

 

"You got  _expelled?_ " Sherlock echoed, his eyes widening, "What did you possibly do to get expelled from the Military!? Did you burn it down or something?"

 

"What? No!" John explained quickly, trying to think of a way he could avoid actually saying how, "It's.. It's a really long story-"

 

He was interrupted by the ring of the school bell,

 

"Shit, It's end of break.." Sherlock muttered, staring at the clock which read  _11:00am_ , "Well, it was lovely talking to you, John." He stood up and grabbed his bag, "I'll see you around!"

He ran off to his next lesson without turning around, just like he did earlier that morning.

 

John sighed in relief, thankful that the bell rang just in time. He remembered that he had Maths, then English, according to his timetable. He stuffed his book into his bag and followed the rest of the students who were also going to their next lessons.

 

 

\---

 

John found the Maths department quite easily, considering it was right outside the Common Room. He casually strolled into the room he was supposed to go in and sat down, waiting for the teacher to arrive. He bent down over his bag to reach for his pencil case until a paper ball was thrown at his face,

 

"Hey, who threw that?" He demanded, a little harsher than he meant. He turned to the direction in which it was thrown and was met by someone who sat next to him. The boy had short black hair which occasionally flicked out in different directions,

 

"I don't know your name, and I had to get your attention somehow.." The boy explained, shrugging. John growled under his breath before sitting back up,

 

"May I help you?" He growled through his teeth. The boy wasn't phased by John's hostility at all and just asked,

 

"Is it true you were talking to Sherlock this morning?"

 

"Yeah.. Why?" John asked suspiciously, unsure where this conversation was going.

 

The boy shook his head in what looked like despair,

 

"Bad mistake, " He said in a low voice, "That kid's a murderer in the making.."

 

_'Wait- What!?'_ John's mind halted. Was what this kid saying actually true? From what John had seen, Sherlock wasn't actually a bad person. A bit cold and rude, yes, but not really  _dangerous_ . But in the back of John's mind, he knew that he had only known Sherlock for about 15 minutes, but still..

 

... Sherlock wouldn't do something like murder someone..  _Would he?_

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter (Which I'm thankful for, because i hate writing about pre-S3 Anderson. I like him more when he's a Sherlock nerd..)
> 
> Yeah, Anderson's a dick.

 

 

" _Excuse_ me!?" John asked finally when his mind was able to think again,

 

"I said, _'Why were you-'_

 

"I  _heard_ what you said then, I meant after you- Never mind!" John interrupted, not wanting the the boy to repeat himself. He waved his hand dismissively before continuing "Sherlock wouldn't murder someone; He was alright when I met him. And what does it matter who I talk to?"

 

The boy shrugged again, "It doesn't," He explained, his voice still calm, "It's just that you could make way better friends here. I'm Philip, by the way, but most people call me Anderson.."

 

"Pleasure.." John sighed sarcastically, narrowing his capris-coloured gaze slightly at this 'Anderson' person, "My name's John, so what do you have against Sherlock?"

 

Anderson sat up straighter and rolled his eyes, "Well, he's  _weird_ , and he can be a right dick all the time," He began bitterly, staring up at the ceiling, "Not to mention that he can tell you your life story just by looking at you, then he normally insults you right after."

 

"Yeah, I know. He did that thing to me too and could even tell which Military school I came from," John then tried desperately to defend him, "But he didn't insult me at all, and I thought what he did was actually really cool-"

 

"Hang on a second," Anderson quickly interrupted, his eyes snapped back to John and widened slightly, "Did you say.. You came from a Military school?"

 

"Yeah.." John sighed, the conversation was already exhausting him and he felt like there was no polite way of saying  _'Shut up, I know you mean well but you're already annoying me.'_ , so he decided to wait until the conversation was over, "Why is everyone so impressed by that? I've been going to the same school since I was eleven- Well, until I got expelled.."

 

"You got expelled? How?"

 

_'Damn it!'_ John thought angrily, knowing full well that he brought that on himself. He half considered if it was worth jumping out the window- they were on the bottom floor, so they'd be no risk of breaking anything in his body if he landed right..

 

"I'd.. Rather not say, if that's OK with you.." He admitted, gently swinging his foot backwards and forwards. Anderson seemed satisfied with John not saying anything, for he relaxed back into his own chair and closed his eyes,

 

"Don't worry, it's fine..." He reopened his eyes and looked back at John, "Listen, it's your life so you can make your own decisions, but I've known Sherlock since Primary school and I  _know_ he's not a good person. In fact, you could ask almost any other person and they'd probably reply with  _'Stay away from Sherlock Holmes'_ ..."

 

John began to feel an uncomfortable ache in his stomach, like he did during that morning. He had barely known Sherlock for about 15 minutes, and yet he wanted to stand up and say that he was a good person, but Anderson kept on talking before John had the chance,

 

"Unless, of course," Anderson carried on, his voice sounded grave, "You fancy ending up in prison with him. He says he wants to join the police force when he's older, but in all honesty, he's just a psychopath. One way or another, one student in this school is going to end up in hospital because of him, and it will  _not_ be pretty.."

 

John's mind practically begged him to get up and claim that Sherlock was actually OK and that he probably didn't  _mean_ to hurt anyone, but his throat was closed and made it impossible to speak. Could he be wrong about Sherlock? He didn't seem like a horrible person, and he didn't insult John once like Anderson said.. But what if that was because John had just met him?..

 

"Um.. Thanks, I guess.." John muttered awkwardly, hoping the conversation was brought to a close. He could hardly concentrate on the following lesson, or even the English one after that. All his thoughts were focused on Sherlock.

 

_'I'll have to talk to him later..'_ He thought, he didn't want to believe that Sherlock had any bad intentions inside his brilliant mind, because he thought of Sherlock as the first friend he made at school.

 

Surely Sherlock Holmes was just simply misunderstood? Right?...

 

..

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

John's first day of school was half over and he was already stressed with questions in his mind- It was lunch-break for all students but he didn't know if he could keep any food down in him at all. He just needed to find Sherlock, and as soon as possible.

 

He entered the Common Room and urgently looked around, checking if Sherlock was there like before. He walked down the couple of steps which lead into the main part of the room where most people were, but Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be seen,

 

_'Maybe he's already having lunch,'_ John thought to himself, hanging his head in disappointed. He was about to turn around until a deep, familiar voice behind him spoke to him,

 

"Looking for someone?"

 

John spun around in surprise and saw Sherlock standing before him, much to his relief,

 

"Actually, I was looking for you." John admitted, hoping that Sherlock was in a good enough mood to answer a very forward question.

 

"Really? Why?" Sherlock tipped his head to one side and blinked innocently, but there was a small spark in his eyes that almost went unnoticed by John..

 

"I.. I need to ask you something.." John said quietly, he bit his lip nervously, "If it's OK for me to ask.."

 

Sherlock blinked and studied John for a moment, he revealed nothing in his icy eyes but after a hesitant second, he nodded slowly,

 

"Alright.." He said slowly with his silver-tinted eyes squinted slightly, as if he was already suspicious of what John was going to say, "So what is it?"

 

John took a deep breath through his nose and chose his next words carefully, "I.. Um.. So I spoke to someone earlier," He began awkwardly, feeling the scorch of Sherlock's scolding gaze on his skin, "I think you know him.. His name's.. Anderson or something-"

 

" _Anderson!_ I fucking knew he would say something to you!" Sherlock hissed angrily, his sudden interruption and the pure venom in his spitting voice almost made John flinch, "He said something about me, didn't he!? He  _always_ says something to anyone who talks to me!"

 

"He said you were a psychopath but-"

 

"And you  _believed_ him!?"

 

John looked up at Sherlock and narrowed his eyes , forcing himself not snarl in reply. "I  _never_ said I believed him!" He snapped furiously, wishing that Sherlock wouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly, "It's just that I-"

 

"-It's just that you  _actually_ had to  _ask_ me if I was a serial killer because I bet I  _am_ a psychopath in your eyes, aren't I!?" Sherlock interrupted, not letting John finish what he was about to say. "Fine then! Join the rest of people who think I'm a murderer, they're all idiots anyway so you'll fit right in!" He added spitefully. Rage made him more harsher than he meant, but he refused to take the last part back.

 

John clenched his fists into a tight, furious lock and held back with every ounce of self-control to stop himself from punching Sherlock, "So I'm an idiot now!?" John snarled through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched so hard it was almost painful. His face only a few inches from Sherlock's, "Fine! If I'm as stupid as you say I am, then I guess you don't want me around!"

 

Without waiting for another word from Sherlock, he stormed past him and charged through the large doors of the room, ignoring the shocked and startled looks he received from people who had heard their whole fight. His breath were quick, shallow growls through his teeth, he didn't have to deal with this kind of shit.

 

-

 

Sherlock stood frozen where he was for moment, forcing himself to slowly breath through his nose to calm down. When he prepossessed what just happened in his mind- The whole argument with John, along with every word they spat at each other. He hung his head low and sighed despairingly, almost giving out what sounded like a silent wail.

 

"Fucking smooth, Sherlock." He scolded himself before walking away with a feeling that felt like he was being dragged into the ground..

 

 

 

\---

 

Many hours later, John was still in an extremely foul mood. Not even having Sociology cheered him up. It had only been one day and he already managed to loose the only friend he had made, he only wanted to talk with Sherlock, and yet it was made so impossible. He wasn't even sure what he was going to do next; Should he try and talk to him again? But what if Sherlock was still mad at him? Would he ever be able to talk to him again? Heck, would John be able to forgive _him_ for what Sherlock said about him?

 

Almost every student in the school was rushing through the corridors, wanting to get out as soon as possible. It was the end of John's first day at school- and it was a failure.

Suddenly, John was pushed into the side of the lockers with a hefty force; his small size made it easy for people to be pushed into him without them even noticing,

 

"Hey, can you please-" He tried to push away, but whoever was, apparently unknowingly, pressed against him made it almost impossible to move,

 

The crushing weight on John was suddenly relived when he noticed someone shoving the person out the way with a hard push,

 

"Oi, get moving and stop leaning on people," they growled, smashing their hand against the locker, acting like a barrier between John and the rest of the crowd to stop him from getting hurt again.

 

"You alright?" They asked in a much softer tone. John looked up and saw it was Sherlock- ' _What a brilliant end to a brilliant day.'_ He thought bitterly.

John didn't reply out loud. Instead, he swiftly turned his gaze to the ground and tried to ignore him, even though Sherlock did just help him, he was still incredibly pissed at him.

 

 

 

Within a matter of minutes, the crows began to thin away to only a handful of people. Sherlock then pivoted to John's side and leaned his back against the lockers. Even though John wasn't looking at him, he could still feel Sherlock's gaze on him,

 

"I'm still angry at what you called me," John muttered under his breath, his head turning away from him. He heard Sherlock giving out a quiet sigh,

 

"Yeah, I.. I guess I went too far.." He stammered awkwardly. When John remained silent, he carried on speaking, "Umm.. Listen, there's a café not far from school that sells good teas.." He hesitated for a second, his breath shaking as he continued,

 

"May I.. Buy you one? You know, since you're new here and all?.."

 

John slowly looked up at Sherlock, the guilty look in his eyes made John sure that his offer was genuine. It sounded as if Sherlock wanted to apologise, and John himself knew he could use a cup of tea to relax.

 

"Yeah, sure.." John said finally, nodding his head slightly. He wondered if he saw a flash of relief flicker in Sherlock's cyan-blue eyes, but it disappeared too quickly to be sure when Sherlock began walking toward the entrance of school,

 

"Good, then let's get going," He said, he twisted his head behind his shoulder, "Come on, before the others get there!"

 

John shook his head and chuckled silently under his breath as he quickly caught up with Sherlock, walking beside him. Who knows, maybe he could get used to Sherlock? It certainly would be useful to know someone who already knew the place better than John.

 

And fuck, there could be a side to Sherlock that not many other people knew. What if there was something inside Sherlock that could make him a good friend?

 

_What if he could be more than that?.._

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

"So yeah, I guess I was.. A bit not good earlier... " Sherlock sipped his tea and placed it back down on the glossy, wooden table, "But Anderson and I.. Well, we were never good friends, or even friends to begin with. Ever since we were 5 he was always against me, so I don't really like him that much."

 

John slowly nodded as Sherlock told his story, the café which Sherlock brought him to was quite nice; it had a warm, cosy atmosphere to it, with a few students from school in there too. The tea, like Sherlock promised, was one of the tastiest John had ever had. He let the sounds of quiet chaos drown him for a brief heartbeat before he began speaking,

 

"Oh really? But you hide it so well!" John purred teasingly, making Sherlock chuckle. He didn't know why, but John somehow found Sherlock's laugh to be so..Strangely _Alluring_. It was a low sound, and yet it made John feel warm, and almost safe; even if Sherlock himself wasn't the warmest of people.

 

"But just so you know, I wasn't going to ask you if you were a serial killer or not," John referred back to earlier, his cup of tea gently warming his hands. Sherlock looked up at John calmly, but his eyes betrayed him with a flicker of curiosity,

 

"So.. What were you going to ask?"

 

"I was going to ask you why Anderson was so hateful towards you," John said, deciding to leave out the awful things he had said about Sherlock during maths, "When I met you, you didn't seem like such a bad person, so it bothered me that someone would think you were."

 

Sherlock brought his gaze down, focusing his attention to his cup, which he was fiddling with. John wondered if Sherlock felt guilty about their argument or if it was something else, but then he snapped his attention back at John, his expression was emotionless,

 

"Remember this morning when I deduced which school you came from?" Sherlock asked, to which John nodded. "Well, you were one of the few people to react positively to it. There are people, like Anderson, who _really_ hate it when I do it to them, some of them can barely stand to be near me because of how 'freakish' they say I am; makes studying in a noisy area much easier, mind you. "

 

Sherlock awkwardly took another sip at his tea, then placing the now-empty cup down again before swiping his tongue across his pale-magenta lips.

 

"He's turned most of the school against me now," He added, glancing back at John, "but being popular at school or having loads of friends isn't something I care about much, if what people said about me really did bother me, then I would have moved schools ages ago."

 

"You seemed quite bothered when you thought that _I_ thought you were a psychopath," John couldn't help pointing out, but then immediately wishing he had held his tongue; he didn't want to go back there again.

 

But instead of a snarky reply like he expected, Sherlock just shrugged and stared out the window they were next to,

 

"Well, you're different to other people.." He explained, his hand running through his dusky, curly hair, "I mean.. You're alright, I guess.." His voice trailed off, not wanting to say anymore.

 

The two of them both sat in an awkward silence, until John tried to dissolve to tension,

 

"So what about your family? Do you have any siblings?"

 

Sherlock, although relieved at the change of subject, turned back to John and sighed wearily,

 

"I've got an older brother called Mycroft," He replied, not putting much positive emotion in his voice, "I suppose he's OK, but he gets in the way all the time; He  _says_ that he does it to keep me 'safe', but he thinks I'm too stupid to take care of myself!"

 

"Maybe he  _does_ just want you safe?" John suggested, not getting any reply from Sherlock, "I mean, at least then you know he cares about you. I'd do anything for a sibling who cares.."

 

The last part of his speech managed to get Sherlock's attention back, he stared at John and studied him for a moment,

 

"So you don't get on with your brother, either? Do your parents always tell you that you have to get on? Mine always do and it doesn't change anything.."

 

John sadly shook his head, "My parents live on the other side of London," He explained, remembering how even his parents barely wanted anything to do with him after he got expelled, "The school we go to now was the only one that accepted me, so I have to live with Harry, which is  _not_ fun.."

 

"Wait, so Harry's your brother?"

 

John froze for a second, looking at Sherlock with a confused gaze, before relaxing and shaking his head,

 

"No, Harry- is short for Harriet." He explained, forgiving Sherlock for the easy mistake, "She prefers being called Harry, so that's what we all call her."

 

Sherlock nodded but didn't say anything else, he looked as if he was concentrating on something in his mind, but John wasn't sure what.

 

"So I'm guessing you live with your family?" John guessed, breaking the silence between them again.

 

"I live with Mycroft, my mother and my father," Sherlock confirmed, his focus back on John, "Although I'm hoping to move out when I've finished school, hopefully by the time I go to Uni."

 

"Oh, what are you going to study at University, then?" John asked, remembering how Anderson said that Sherlock wanted to work in the police force.

 

"Law." Sherlock answered simply, but then added more detail, "I'm going to become a detective when I'm older. I've always had an interest in crime solving, it's the most fun you can have, in my opinion."

 

John was about to speak, but Sherlock wasn't finished,

 

"It's either that," He added, scratching the front of his chest slightly, "Or work with animals. Maybe a Dog Trainer or something."

 

"You want to work with animals?" John echoed, unable to hide to hint of surprise in his voice.

 

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Sherlock asked innocently, but with a spark of defiance in his tone. He squinted his eyes slightly and waited for John to reply, almost expecting a sneery retort.

 

"No, no, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," John tried to defend himself, shaking his head, "It's just.. I didn't think someone who didn't like people that much would have a fondness for other creatures.."

 

Sherlock gave a small shrug and stared down at his lap, but John noticed that his eyes were almost glinted with a kind of sadness,

 

"Animals aren't nearly as scornful as some people," He muttered quietly, his voice barely audioable, "Dogs, for example, love you for whoever you are, but even if they didn't then at least they wouldn't beat you up for being different.."

 

John's heart lurched for him; while he himself was never really bullied that much- unless you count anytime they made fun of John for being short- he could almost feel the pain that Sherlock was in from of what people said about him.

 

"Well, I don't think you're a freak or anything like that.." John replied softly, hoping to make Sherlock feel better, "I actually think you're brilliant; I mean, that deduction-thing you can do is pretty cool.."

 

John noticed that Sherlock's face was washed with tint of red, especially on his cheeks. Sherlock didn't look up at John but he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment,

 

"Oh God, did I say that out loud?.." He asked awkwardly, "I.. Ur.. That was something else. I don't really care what people say about me.."

 

"Ah right, I see." John nodded, almost in a mock-belief tone. He figured that maybe Sherlock was the kind who'd rather show indifference to other people, and would rarely ever show empathy for anything, so he figured that Sherlock would be grateful if he tried to forget about that little speech of his.

 

Sherlock was about to say something, but a quite tune coming from his pocket interrupted him. He brought out a phone from his pockets and grunted in annoyance as he read the message he just received,

 

"God damn it, Mycroft.." He muttered under his breath. He stood up from his chair and placed the phone back into his tight, black jeans, "I've got to get going, Mycroft's nagging me to come home," He added, resting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, "Well, have a nice evening and I'll see you tomorrow!"

 

Without waiting for a word from John, he raced off out of the coffee shop and whisked back home, leaving John by himself,

 

"Sure.. Bye then.." He sighed, shaking his head. Perhaps it was time for him to get going to. He stood up and grabbed his bag before exiting the café; He looked up and down the street, wondering which way he was supposed to go to get back home.

After a couple of moments deciding, he began walking down the busy street on London and reflected on how eventful his day had been; even more exciting- for lack of a better word- than his days at the Academy.

 

"I suppose he's nice enough," John said to himself out loud, thinking of Sherlock, "I wonder what else he'll be able to surprise me with.."

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

"I'm home!"

 

Sherlock called out as he entered the front door to his home. His house was quite big, yet it was decorated to be cosy at the same time.

Whether anyone heard him or not was irrelevant to him, he briskly walked into the kitchen and threw off his bag which skidded across the floor. He barely even noticed that his older brother, Mycroft, was also in the kitchen; reading his book while leaning against the wall,

 

"So, how was school?" Mycroft asked coolly, not looking up from his book. "See any school friends of yours?"

 

"You know I don't care for 'friends', Mycroft." Sherlock replied irritatedly. He opened the door of the fridge and grabbed one of the chilled drinks which was sitting there. He then closed the door and leant against the marble kitchen counter. Neither of the two brothers made eye-contact,

 

"Yes, we _all_ know that, Sherlock.." Mycroft sighed, his voice was still solemnly monotoned, "The only friend you've had since you were 10 was Redbeard.."

 

Sherlock glanced towards his dog which was sleeping beside the radiator, the mention of his name made the Irish Setter flick his long, dark ginger ears and open his eyes, until he lazily closed them again and went back to sleep, his gentle breathing made his shiny coat rise up and down.

Sherlock didn't reply to Mycroft's remark, instead, he placed his half-drunken drink down on the counter before beginning to exit the room, away from his annoying brother,

 

"Whatever, I'm going to study-"

 

"Oh, but before you go," Mycroft interrupted, looking up from his book at last, "How's John Watson today?"

 

Sherlock stood frozen where he was, before slowly turning his head to his brother, who just arched one of his eyebrows and waited for an answer. At first, Sherlock was confused at how Mycroft could possibly know about John, but then realisation struck through him like lightning,

 

"Oh great, what has Greg told you this time?" Sherlock growled, turning around fully and crossing his arms across is chest, "And I'd appreciate it if you told your boyfriend to stop texting you about  _my_ private life." 

 

"All he told me that you made a little friend called John at school," Mycroft replied casually, ignoring Sherlock's last comment. He turned back to his book and flipped the page, "Apparently you were getting on _very_ well during break time, then I heard you had a fight with him, he didn't say what about though."

 

"Because it's none of your busisnes," Sherlock snapped, grabbing his bag and hesitantly turned to Mycroft one last time, "..And we made up in the end, if you're so desperate to know.."

 

He spun around and made his way out of the kitchen, huffing in annoyance. Why was his brother always getting into things that didn't concern him? He ran upstairs and into his room, before slamming his door loudly behind him.

He threw his blue-and-white shoulder bag beside his desk before collapsing onto his soft bed; his face buried in a pillow as his left leg lazily hung off the side. He could just sleep there right then if he could, but he knew he had work to do,

 

_'Eh, I'll do it later..'_ He thought, twisting his head to the side so he could breath; although Sherlock was an incredible genius and one of, if not  _the_ , smartest pupils in school, he was just as lazy as he was clever, which meant that any work that bored him wasn't a high priority to him.

He flipped himself over and stared up at the ceiling, not thinking of anything in particular; he just enjoyed the silence which he could indulge himself in.

He took a deep breath through his nose, before exhaling with a mighty sigh; there was something in the back of his mind that was bothering him,

 

"It's that John-person," He muttered to himself, his hands resting on his chest, "He's strange, but in a good way. Probably the best way there could be; he doesn't dislike me like others do, he was willing to accept my apology, and fuck, he didn't call me a freak after I deduced him! God knows the last time when that happened.."

 

There was defiantly something about John that Sherlock knew could make him a trustworthy friend, but if John continued to be with Sherlock, would he one day turn his back on him? Certainly wouldn't be the first time..

Sherlock was then drowned in a wave of uncertainty, it was highly unusual for someone to be with him, let alone  _like_ him. What if John actually believed what Anderson said? What if John was just talking to him because he felt sorry for him?

 

"Oh for fuck's sake, just shut up.." He grumbled to himself, taking the pillow behind his head and hiding his face with it. "It wouldn't matter anyway. John's just a person, why would I care if he left me?.."

 

But the nagging voice in Sherlock's head wouldn't keep silent. He felt confused about what was going on; It was indifferent to him if anyone left him, he wouldn't mind if he was left on his own. In fact, he found himself more able to focus on work when he was alone.

 

So how -and why- was John different?

 

There was just something about that slate-blue eyed, golden haired boy that made Sherlock feel something inside, but he had no idea what it was; Was it John's understanding that made him stand out? Was it his warm smile that made Sherlock feel safe inside? Was it just everything about him?

How did a boy- that Sherlock has only known for one day- manage to capture Sherlock's attention so bad that he could barely even think straight?

 

"Urg, I don't know!" He snapped at himself, his voice muffled by his pillow, "I hate not knowing..."

 

Sherlock slowly sat up on his bed and looked out the window he was next to; The sun was hovering above the horizon and washed the sky in a pale-orange light, the late-summer evening was going by quicker than Sherlock thought.

 

Sighing dramaticly, Sherlock lifted himself off his bed, dragged himself over to his desk and sat down, pushing some clutter away. He lifted his bag on his lap and brought out his psychology text book and folder; figuring he should start completing the homework on one of his favourite subjects.

He opened his text book on one of the pages they were looking at in class and began recalling what he was supposed to learn from the text. There were also some questions that he was supposed to answer, but Sherlock hardly had the energy,

 

" _Urgh_ .." Sherlock groaned, almost pathetically, as he rested his face on his desk. What was going on with him?..

 

 

\--

 

Sherlock had no idea how long he was sat at his desk for until he heard his mother call his name,

 

"Sherlock! Dinner!"

 

Sherlock immediately shot up in alarm, then rubbed his tired eyes with his right hand.

 

"Coming!" He shouted with a yawn. He groggily stood up from his desk and slowly made his way out of his bedroom before his mother would call him again.

 

Eventually, he made his way to the Dining room where his family were just sitting down. He sat down at the table and propped up his head with his hand, pretending that he didn't notice Mycroft staring at him,

 

"You alright there, Sherlock?" He asked in mock-sympathy. Sherlock held his brother's stare and huffed noisily from his nose,

 

"Tired." He replied simply, glancing back at the white paint on the dining walls, which was tinted with a washed-out amber from the late sunset outside

 

"You've had more than 6 weeks off! How could you possibly be tired?" Mycroft exclaimed sarcastic, arching his eyebrow up.

 

"Because it's exhausting going to a school with a group of idiots who I don't even care about and make me loose IQ points everytime they opened their mouths." Sherlock snapped, glaring at his older brother.

 

"Really? I thought you cared about that John-kid at school.." Mycroft scoffed. The corner of Sherlock's mouth was forming an irritated snarl, he was about to reply- despite full knowing who bad of an idea it was to fight in front of his parents- but his mother beat him to it,

 

"Who's John?" She asked, glancing at Sherlock, who just turned away in embarrassment,

 

_'Oh God..'_ He thought resentfully. This conversation will  _never_ end now..

 

"He's Sherlock's new friend," Mycroft answered before Sherlock, "It's adorable, really.."

 

"Shut up, Mycroft!" Sherlock snarled hotly, whisking a belligerent glare at Mycroft for bringing John into this, "He's a classmate who I was talking to for about 5 minutes. It has nothing to do with you, so keep your mouth shut!"

 

"Behave, Sherlock." Their mother warned, glancing at both Sherlock and Mycroft, but Sherlock wouldn't let it go,

 

"Can't you tell him to  _stop_ getting people to talk about my private life?" He growled, flicking his hand at Mycroft, "It's seriously unnecessary  _and_ it's annoying! I'm 17 years old- 18 soon, I don't need anyone to watch over me, whether they're my brother or not!"

 

He stood up from his chair and stormed out the kitchen, ignoring the calls from his parents and leaving his dinner behind; he wasn't hungry anyway.

He returned to his bedroom and loudly slammed the door behind him in anger, the dull noise echoed through the house. He leant his back against the door and sighed out of his mouth, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

 

 

He walked towards a black, leather case which was standing beside his bed. He opened the case and brought out a polished, dark tawny coloured violin out, along with the bow. While resting the violin on his shoulder and supporting it with the side of his face, he drew the bow across the different strings of his instrument, producing a soothingly familiar tune which Sherlock learnt as a younger child- it always calmed him down, or helped him think.

 

"Fucking prick.." He muttered to himself, before letting the sound of his music drown him in a sense of calmness..

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, this is without a doubt one of the nastiest chapters in the entire story (In terms of violence and gore- for lack of a better word).
> 
> Good luck...

 

The cafeteria of the school was always noisy and busy, always filled with students of all years wanting to get their lunch. The queues were usually impatiently long, but luckily for John, he managed to get out of class early, and therefore got lunch without much waiting.  
He exited the cafeteria while wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his striped,black-and-white jacket, before trying to swerve from the mass of students in the corridor who were chatting in their own small groups. He walked across the line of lockers and noticed the one boy who was putting his bag into his own locker, but also had a distracted look on his face,

"Sherlock!" John called, looking over at him. However, Sherlock showed no recognition that he even heard him, so John walked over to Sherlock and patted his shoulder to get his attention, "Sherlock, can you hear me?" He repeated.

Sherlock glanced at John in surprise; his eyes subtly widened, but then returned to the cat-like shape they usually were. He turned back to his locker and placed his bag inside, delicately tucking in the strap so it wouldn't get caught in the door, his silence made John anxious. Was everything OK?

"Hello, John.." Sherlock murmured in a monotone voice, putting almost no emotion in his words at all. He didn't even look at John, instead, his focus was on his locker- Not that it was interesting to look at anyway, and John was certain something was wrong with Sherlock. He just seemed so.. Distant..

"Sherlock?" John repeated once again, not even pretending to hide the concern in his voice, "..Is everything alright?"

Sherlock suddenly slammed his locker door, making John jump slightly, but Sherlock didn't even flinch at all,

"I'm fine." He replied simply, with emphasis on the word 'fine'. He sighed heavily through his nose and avoided John's gaze, as if he was purposely hiding something that was troubling him, so John wasn't convinced at all..

"Are you sure? You seem-"

"I told you I'm fine!" Sherlock snapped with an agitated snarl, an icy spark flared in his eyes before he spun around and heavily walked away from where John was standing, his head kept low and he didn't turn back.

John felt the temptation to follow him; either Sherlock was just mardy for no reason what so ever, or he had something bothering him, but either way he clearly didn't want to talk about it. He turned himself around and slowly walked in the opposite direction, away from where Sherlock was going. He stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and decided to do something else with his time, and tried to push the distressed look on Sherlock's face to the back of his mind, however distracting it was.

"If he doesn't want to talk about it, then he doesn't want to talk.." He told himself quietly, "There's no point getting into it."

  
\--

The grassy field which surrounded the school was packed with students playing several sports and social activities; Rugby, football, rounders, a group of girls were making daisy chains around the edge of the field and another group of students.. Well, God knows what they were doing, but it didn't look legal..  
John felt like he should at least make an attempt to join a group of people, because that was what school was apparently about; making friends and other social things. So why didn't he? He didn't know either, maybe he felt like he just wanted to be by himself for a bit, there was nothing wrong with that, surely there was nothing wrong with that?.   
It was a simple enough request, but it soon backfired..

John concentrated on his thoughts while he mindlessly walked around the isolated edge of the School's gym, the fabric of his hoodie gently scraping against the rough texture of the brick wall, until a painful yelp snapped him into reality. He heard someone snarling something around the corner, he knew that the best thing to do was to probably turn his back and tell a teacher or someone, but then another sharp cry of agony was heard and made him worried that someone was getting hurt.  
He carefully turned around the corner and his eyes widened at the sight before him; Sherlock, with a bloody face and red-stained fabric on his jacket, was ruthlessly pinned against the brick wall by a tall, broad-shouldered boy with spiky, combed-back, butterscotch-blonde hair. Forget John, this was the kind of guy who looked like he'd be expelled from a Military School- Probably was, too..

"You know what you did, you freak." He growled in a rough, throaty voice. His grip on Sherlock's scruff tightened as he kept his menacing stare,

"Oh really, Sebastian?" Sherlock sneered scornfully, as he spoke a trail of blood exited his mouth, "Are you sure you're not threatening me because Jim's thinking of dumping you? It's plain as the light of day, you can see it in his eyes-"

He was cut short with a scathing choke when Sebastian moved his left hand from his scruff and upto his throat, sealing it from talking - and probably breathing - any longer. Sherlock tried to push his hand away from his neck, but to no avail.  
Sebastian was mere inches from Sherlock's beaten face when he spoke again,

"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you?" He thundered, flecks of spit made Sherlock blink in disgust and his voice so gruff it was almost inaudible "When in actual fact, you're just a psychopath who'd be better off 6 feet underground."

Sherlock, who didn't seemed fazed by Sebastian’s death threat, snarled back at him ('Fucking moron..' John thought regretfully),

"Big words for someone who spent the last 5 minutes punching me in the face.."

That seemed to be the final straw for Sebastian, for he raised his heavy-built fist and Sherlock shut his eyes as he braced himself,

'Oh fuck! He's going to get killed!' John thought in fear. He wouldn't have enough time to get someone, so without thinking too clearly- or thinking at all- he shouted at Sebastian,

"Leave him alone, you piece of shit!" He barked threateningly, memories of getting into fights when he was younger came back to him.

Sebastian’s glare snapped toward John, his piercing emerald-green eyes scorching him. He narrowed them as he dropped Sherlock onto the floor, who landed with a painful grunt.  
John held Sebastian’s scowl unflinchingly; John's delt with people like him before, he had no reason to fear him at all.

"What did you say to me?" Sebastian hissed with a clenched jaw, moving his way into John's personal space- He towered over him and casted a shadow over John's face,

"I said," John repeated coolly, his voice unwavering and clear, " 'Leave. Him. Alone'. Oh, I'm sorry, is that too much of a problem?"

Sebastian squinted his eyes, his pupils slitted in fury. He quickly pulled his arm back and aimed an angered-driven punch at John's face. But before he could hit him, John instinctively grabbed Sebastian’s fist and twisted him around; forcefully pushing him into the wall with his whole arm trapped behind his back, disabling him to move without a great deal of pain. He cursed breathlessly through his jaw, feebly trying to move from John's grip.   
John had used that move many times before, and it wasn't uncommon that people would underestimate his smaller size. Which was amusing, to say the least.

"Unless you want a lot more pain, stay away from Sherlock Holmes," John spat like a cat in his ear, even though he had to reach up on his tip-toes to make himself heard , "If you hit him again, I'll break your fucking arms. Are we clear?" He added threateningly, twisting Sebastian’s arm further when he saw no visible reaction to what he said. Intense, Instant hatred pumped through his veins with every adrenalin-induced heartbeat.

Sebastian nodded quickly, his lips were sealed in a crooked line, he looked like that if he was to open them then he would cry out. John was about to let Sebastian go, thinking he had learnt his lesson by now. until a furiously angry teacher, who probably heard the whole thing from miles away, turned up around the corner and demanded what was going on.  
Without even waiting for an explanation, the teacher escorted all three of them to the head Teacher, where there was no doubt that John would get a severe shouting at. John kept his head low in embarrassment the whole way, and cutely aware of a shocked, slightly-overwhelemed Sherlock staring at him in either horror or awe- although John knew he was staring at him the whole time.

  
\--

Both John and Sherlock waited outside the office, waiting for their turn to get roared at. John tried to think of a way he could explain what actually happened without getting yelled at, although at that moment it seemed pointless to even try- he knew how he looked back then; with one excruciatingly battered boy on the floor, while another one was being pinned against a wall in complete agony- it must have looked absolutely terrible..  
Sherlock grunted under his breath as he pressed an ice-pack on his face; the eye facing John was half-closed and swollen, and his nose still dripped with blood that dribbled down his chin like a scarlet stream, but he didn't make much of a fuss of it, and John couldn't help but admire him for that.

'With someone as heavily-built as that Sebastien-person, it must have been torture when he punched him..' John thought, visibly wincing as he tried to imagine the horrible pain Sherlock would have and still is in. He cautiously glanced at Sherlock, who glanced at him at the same time. The two quickly broke the awkward eye-contact and remained silent, until Sherlock cleared his throat forcefully,

"Um.. Thanks for fighting Sebastian." He murmured nervously, shifting in his chair and staring at the ground, "It was.. Urr.. Good of you to..You know, do that.."

John smirked and shook his head, as if it wasn't a big deal, "It's fine," He said, crossing his arms across his chest, "It was an instant reaction. So why did he threaten to beat you up?"

Sherlock sighed out his mouth and shrugged, "He was furious with me because I may have said something about Jim wanting to break-up with him, so he hit me in the face- ...Several times.."

"Did you think he wouldn't hit you?" John arched his eye brows towards his friend, who simply shrugged again,

"Well, I might have been angry myself when I said it.. Mycroft was getting on my back again for things that didn't concern him.." He sighed, his eyebrow furrowed with irritation, "Oh yeah, speaking of which.. That's also the reason why I snapped at you earlier, so you have my stupid brother to blame for that.."

John chuckled and lifted his head back as he smiled, why did he find it so amusing when Sherlock just insulted people like that? Was because of his nature? The way he said it? Or is it simply because it was Sherlock who said it?

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't get beaten to death," John said," And again; it's fine, about the whole shouting and stuff. It's all fine.."

Sherlock looked towards him and John saw him smile for the first time since that evening when they went to the café. It felt nice inside to see him smile like that, it made John feel warm in his heart.

"I know my parents are going to go mental at me, though.." John sighed, half to himself.

"Hm?"

"Well, getting into a fight on the second day of school; not exactly what a 'star child' would do.." John explained, his lips drawing to the side, "Not sure if it will make me popular here, either. If I'm seen as one of those guys who beats people up.."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sherlock contradicted, "Sebastian wasn't exactly popular either- 'Feared' would probably be a better way of describing him. I think most people would at least respect you, if not like you, for winning a fight against one of the most infamous scourges in school.."

John thought to himself for a moment before replying, "Well, I suppose that wouldn't be bad, if people liked me and stuff," He thought out loud, "But I don't think it would make much difference for me, either way, popularity was never really a goal for me.." He glanced at Sherlock, "Maybe if people thought that I would hit them in the face if they picked on you, perhaps they would stop?"

"I doubt that," Sherlock grumbled, rolling his head back and staring up at the ceiling, "Might reduce the amount of times I come home with injuries every week, maybe, but It won't put a stop to it.."

John sighed to himself as his heart felt a twist of sympathy for Sherlock, "Well, the next time anyone says anything mean to you, just tell me and I'll sort them out for you." John promised, "You know I would, for you."

Sherlock studied John out of the corner of his eye for a brief heartbeat, but then fully turned his head towards him and John could see a warm glow coming from his one good eye,

"I know. Thanks, John.." He purred, a shy smile formed from the corner of his mouth. His unswollen eye brightened up, almost as if he forgot the pain he was in for a brief moment.

"Anytime at all, Sherlock.."


	8. Chapter 8

 

Despite the summer almost being over and the days becoming shorter, the outside was as still warm and sunny as it was during the late June. Without haste, Sherlock zipped up his dark grey jacket before picking up Redbeard's leather leash,

 

"Right, ready to go out, Redbeard?" He looked down at his dog, who sat patiently beside him with a lashing tail. Sherlock knew that he didn't even need an answer and swiftly clipped the lead to Redbeard's collar, who then stood up on his paws and jiggled about excitedly, panting with anticipation.

 

"Alright, alright, calm down, boy." Sherlock chuckled, gently scratching behind the Irish Setter's ears, who then closed his eyes in pleasure "Come on, I told John I'd show him you today."

 

Sherlock opened the front door and was about to leave until he heard a voice behind him, which made him sigh inwardly,

 

"Going out again, hm?"

 

Sherlock turned around and grunted in annoyance. What was Mycroft going on about this time?

His brother, God knows _where_ he came from, leant against the wall beside the bannister of the stairs as he kept his eyes on his book,

 

"Didn't you go out yesterday, aswell? And the day before that?" Mycroft asked rehotircally, huffing out his nose in amusement, "I thought you hated going outside to meet other people, said it was 'pointless' to you.."

 

"What's your point?" Sherlock snapped, acutely aware that Redbeard was pulling towards the open door, begging to go outside, "Redbeard wants to go out for a walk, that's what an owner does."

 

"You've been seeing John a lot recently," Mycroft remarked, completely ignoring Sherlock's comment about Redbeard, "Young Sherlock Holmes- one of the most anti-social and intolerant people in the world- going out to see someone he goes to school with? Special to you, is he?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sherlock protested hotly, feeling himself growing warmer by the second, and his jacket didn't help. He wanted to leave, but he knew that if he did, then Mycroft would never let it go, "Of course I'm hanging out with John- He's my friend!"

 

" _'Friend'_? " Mycroft looked like he was trying hard to suppress his laughter, he looked up from his book and smirked, "Didn't you say just last week that you didn't care for that sort of thing? "

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but Mycroft was already talking again,

 

"So.. He's just a _'friend'_ , you say?" He murmured, lowering his blue gaze back to his book, "That's how it _all_ starts, you know. Of course, I doubt you even know what I'm talking about.."

 

"For God's sake, Mycroft. I'm insulted that you think I'm _that_ stupid," Sherlock blustered, fumbling in his jacket uncomfortably. He wasn't an idiot, he knew full well what Mycroft was talking about and it made Sherlock turn his face away in embarrassment, cursing the fact that he blushed so easily. He wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible. "What happens in my social life has nothing to do with you, so just.. Shut up and go away!"

 

Without waiting for another word, Sherlock opened the door wider and briskly walked out, slamming the door behind him which echoed like thunder.

He didn't lift his head up until he got out of his front garden and onto the quiet street. The roads weren't as busy as the ones deeper into the city- Where Sherlock lived, it was almost country-like compared to other parts of London, which in itself had it's perks; like the plush, leafy forest which he lived by.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he heard a voice from the street,

 

"Hey, Sherlock!"

 

Sherlock quickly turned his head to the side, where he saw John walking along with his hands in his pocket, smiling like he usually did when he spoke to Sherlock.

He tried to speak a greeting back, but his throat was clammed shut and made talking awkward.

 

John stopped in front of him and furrowed his brow in a mix of concern and confusion,

 

"Umm.. Everything alright?" He asked quizzically, even though John's capri-grey gaze only made Sherlock feel more flustered, "You seem.. You look a bit red, there.."

 

_'Oh, for Fuck's sake..'_ Sherlock thought, turning his face away from John and resting his attention to Redbeard, who was gently pawing at John as he stroked the top of Redbeard's dark ginger head, but still kept his focus on Sherlock.

 

"Yeah, fine." Sherlock coughed dryly, rubbing his throat until it opened up again, "Right, so.. This is Redbeard. My dog."

 

"Heh, he's cute." John purred, kneeling down the the dog's height, smiling brightly, "How long have you had him for?"

 

"Seven years, actually." Sherlock answered, relived at the change of subject, "My parents got him me for my tenth birthday.."

 

"You're lucky," John chuckled, standing up again and wiping off the stray dog hairs on his jumper, "My sister has a cat called Lucas. He's a little tabby cat and all he does is hide dead mice in the house use my arms as a scratching post in my sleep. I've always wanted a dog of my own.."

 

His stare snapped from Redbeard back to Sherlock, who dared to look back at him and tried to hold his gaze without warming up again,

 

"So I'm about to take him for a walk...I-in the forest. Do you.. Want to come with me?" He asked, flicking his tongue across his lips nervously, even though he had no reason to be.

 

"Yeah, sure." John nodded, resting his hands back into his navy-blue jeans again, "That's what we arranged, wasn't it? Taking Redbeard out.."

 

"Yes, of course." Sherlock confirmed, holding his head up with his usual confidence before walking down the street with Redbeard and John walking by his side, taking the usual path he took to get to the forest where he often walked; He thought that forests were often a good place to clear one's thoughts, or to get away from people who annoyed him..

 

\--

 

 

 

"Sherlock, are you sure you can climb down from there?.." John asked worriedly, staring at Sherlock as he ungracefully tried to climb down the giant oak tree.

 

"Oh please, John!" Sherlock sighed loudly so John could hear him from the ground, although he was only at least 10ft off the ground, "I've been climbing these trees since I was young, I think I know how to get down them!"

 

"Mm-hm, and have you ever _fell_ down?" John inquired, crossing his arms across his chest. He arched his eyebrow when, for the first time since they got to the woods, Sherlock stayed silent.

 

"Maybe one time.." Sherlock admitted under his breath, sitting down on a sturdy branch and leant his back against the trunk of the tree, " And I broke my arm, encase you want to write a biography about it.." He added statistically as he closed his eyes, the mild summer breeze ruffling his dark brown hair.

 

John rolled his eyes and didn't reply to Sherlock's snarky comment- It was too much of a nice day for that.

It was still a pleasantly warm Saturday and the two were relaxing in the quiet, reserved woodland which Sherlock lived near. The sun glistened through the thick, dark green leaves and made patches of light on the dusty, undergrowth on the ground, occasionally stirring from the breeze.

 

John's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of barking. He turned his head and saw Redbeard sit in front of him and a yellow ball beside his paws, he wagged his dark ginger tail wildly as he panted with excitement. John picked up the ball and threw it across the canopy clearing. Redbeard chased after it, his silky fur waving in the wind, and leapt at the ball when it landed on the ground.

 

Sherlock sat up straighter on his branch and turned to John,

 

"You've got a very strong throw." He remarked, impressed that someone could even throw that far, but John just shrugged and looked up at him,

 

"Well, I did spend a majority of my childhood in a military school," John pointed out, "Plus, I did a lot of sports during the holidays. Don't you ever do sports?"

 

Sherlock shook his head, "Hm, dull." He replied simply, looking up at nothing in particular, "I've only had one swimming lesson, but it was the most boring 50 minutes of my life- and I got kicked out because somehow it was _my_ fault that the lifeguard’s girlfriend was cheating on him."

 

"Let me guess, you deduced that she was cheating and you told him?" John asked rhetorically, although he could just imagine Sherlock doing that.

 

"Well someone had to, wasn't it nicer to tell someone than for them to live in a lie?"

 

John laughed and shook his head, Sherlock's innocence caused him to smirk widely, "Well, at least you had a choice," John said, "We had to do sports and excesise everyday back in Wolveston, and that doesn't include all the drills we had to do! It was exhausting, especially when I first started, but I suppose the school was alright. Strict, yes, but you got used to it after a while-"

 

John broke off when he noticed Sherlock looking at him with an unblinking stare, causing John to blink in confusion,

 

"Umm.. Sherlock?" He said slowly, pivoting his head to one side, "Care to say something? Your staring is kinda.. Creepy as Hell.."

 

Sherlock just shook his head, as if to relive his thoughts, and leant his head back onto the bark of the tree again, but his gaze didn't avert from John's,

 

"Oh, it's nothing." He shrugged, "I'm just surprised, if anything, since this is the first time I've ever really heard you talk about your past-school, and you said you _hated_ talking about it.."

 

The same thing surprised John too; He didn't even realise he _was_ talking about his school. He hadn't even told his own family anything about his experience, so why was it so easy to talk to Sherlock about it? Was it because he just felt comfortable around him?

 

_'Actually, Sherlock_ isn't _that easy to talk to..'_ John thought, subconsciously picking up the ball that Redbeard brought back and throwing it again, _'Sometimes it's like talking to a brick wall, so.. So how did he get me to talk about things that I can barely think about myself?_

 

John shook his head to clear out his thoughts and tried to change the sensitive subject,

 

"So is this where you go to.. Y'know, think about stuff?" John asked, gazing around the open, green-shaded woodland.

 

"No. It's far too.. Open, and close-to-home for me. This is where I just usually take Redbeard out for walks.." He stated. He then hesitated, looking deep in thought for a short second before jumping down on his branch, a thin wave of dust flicked into the air as he landed, "Come on, I want to show you somewhere.."

 

 

 

\--

 

Sherlock lead John through the woods with Redbeard walking beside them, the peaceful woodland slowly got more dense and shaded as they continued forward.

The gaps that were in between each of the trees slowly got smaller until the leaves in the tall trees were almost interlocked together. In the distance, John could hear the rushing sound of a river current,

 

"Are we almost there, Sherlock?" He asked, glancing at him as he walked just a few feet in front with Redbeard at his heels

 

"Just a little more," He promised, turning his head behind his shoulder for a heartbeat before turning his head back around.

 

The path that they were taking was rocky and very uneven, making John wonder if many people walked this far into the forest. Sherlock then abruptly turned left, towards an even smaller deer trail which was almost hidden by a thick wall of shrubs, bushes and trees.

He used his arm to make through the thick canopy until, eventually, it opened up a forest clearing which left John in awe.

 

"Well, here we are.."

 

John couldn't reply; it was like something from a fairytale; The clearing floor was coated in a soft, mossy grass which was well-trodden on in the centre, but less so around the edges. It was secured and comfortably enclosed by many trees of a variety of sizes and large bushes with waxy, dark coloured leaves. A heavy stream, the same one that John could hear before, swept swiftly in a shallow revise, bits of white froth clumped up near the banks. An almost out-of-place tree with many sturdy branches hung on the edge of the river.

 

It was secure, quiet, and undeniably beautiful.

 

John's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a moving branch. He looked up and saw Sherlock climbing on the the lowest branches of the tree which over looked the river. He sat down comfortably on it with both his legs swinging on one side of the edge,

 

" _This_ is where I come to think." He smirked, placing his hand on the bark of the tree for extra support, "Nice, isn't it? You're actually the only person I've ever told about this place; not even my brother knows about it!"

 

"It's.. It's _amazing_.." John breathed, slowly walking up to the tree where Sherlock was nesting in. Shafts of sunlight made patches of the ground subtly glow in a gold light, "And you say you've never told anyone about here? Well, apart from me?"

 

Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes peacefully,

 

"Sometimes my mind just needs to relax, "He murmured, stifling out a tired yawn, "Nobody else comes here anyway, so it's completely isolated. Perfect for thinking and getting away from people, like annoying brothers who get into your business."

 

"So why did you lead me here?" John asked curiously, leaning his back against Sherlock's tree and looking up at him, "I mean, if it's a secret and all.."

 

Sherlock just looked down at John and a small smile formed across his mouth and his teal-blue eyes glowing,

 

"Goes to show how much I actually like you." He replied, a quiet laugh rumbled out of his throat, "Plus, you're possibly the only company that I can stand for more than 5 minutes.."

 

"And I suppose that's an honour, is it?" John purred statistically

 

"One of the highest.." Sherlock chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning his head back against the tree while looking up at the clear blue sky that could be seen in between the patches of the full-grown leaves.

 

_'Arrogant git..'_ John thought, but Sherlock's remark made him smile brightly. He figured that being liked by someone who usually hates people is pretty good, and Sherlock wasn't all too bad; although he could be stubborn, he could also be a good friend - Well, to a certain extant, anyway- and he obviously thought very highly of John to lead him here, _'And I suppose he's pretty much the only company I want, too. I've never met anyone else as brilliant as him..'_

 

John sat down against one of the tree roots and closed his eyes, taking in the blissful peace around him. It's been months since he could have relax like this, and he felt like he didn't want this beautiful day to end..

 

..


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took, like, 2 months to finish this chapter and I don't know if it was even worth it.
> 
> I'm up to Chapter 24 now, so at least hey'll be less waiting from now on (That's the theory)
> 
> I'm sorry.

 

 

It was the first Monday morning back at school and John could feel an odd disturbance in the air; He could feel that people were watching him, but whenever he looked around, nobody was looking at him..

The ominous feeling crept up John's spine and sat on his back for the rest of the day until decided to confine in Sherlock about it, figuring that it was probably the best thing to do.

 

"It feels really weird.." He began. He was sat down in the cafeteria after he finished his lunch with Sherlock sat opposite him, although he wasn't eating at all like always, "I can see people looking at me through the corner of my eye, but then when I look directly at them, they just.. Turn away.."

 

Even at that moment, he could sense a small group of people in the glancing at him, but his focus was on Sherlock who just nodded thoughtfully,

 

"Are you really surprised, though?" he asked, making John blink in confusion. Did Sherlock tell everyone something about John? Did someone ask him about his military past and he told them!? The thought made John feel uneasy, but Sherlock wouldn't do that.. Would he?

But before John could ask, Sherlock carried on talking,

 

"Don't you remember?" Sherlock arched his eyebrows in surprise, "I'm guessing news got around about the fight you had with Sebastian over the weekend, didn't you see him wearing a bandage on his arm? I mean, imagine if you heard news like that; That a guy as tough as Sebastian who had _never_ lost a fight in his life got his arm broken by a 5ft tall new kid? It would spread like wildfire!"

 

"I'm 5ft 7, actually.." John corrected him under his breath, but wasn't sure if Sherlock heard him.

 

"I told you before that he wasn't even that popular anyway, everyone is probably relived that he won't be beating people up again for a while, I know I certainly am.."

 

John glanced at the small group who were in the lunch queue, but instead of looking away, a few of them smiled at him; maybe Sherlock was right? Better than being forgotten, he figured..

 

He glanced back at Sherlock and noticed that he fidgeted nervously slightly before staring at something to his side,

 

"So what are you going to do now?" He asked, his voice sounded tight but his tone seemed casual, "Thinking of branching out and.. I dunno.. Finding other people to talk to?"

 

John shot stared at Sherlock in surprise. Why would he be suggesting that? Was he nervous that John might leave him?

 

"And why would I do that?" He purred, gently nudging Sherlock with his foot underneath the table, "I'm comfortable where I am, thank you very much. I'm not one of those people who abandons other people just because they can, but thanks for your high opinion of me." He added with a smirk while leaning his back against the back of the slick, plastic chair.

 

"You  _know_ that's not what I meant!" Sherlock sighed  dramatically , but his cheerful smile made John sure that he no longer tense about the subject.

 

"Yes, well, I'm afraid that you may be stuck with me for a while." John joked, causing Sherlock rumble out a quiet chuckle,

 

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get used to it." Sherlock laughed under his breath, gazing up at John with a mischievous glint in his teal-blue eyes.

 

"On a different note- Anything on the agenda this break-time?" John asked, sweeping the crumbs off his pale grey shirt before standing up from the table.

 

"I was thinking of going to the library to study, are you coming with me?" Sherlock jumped up onto his feet and tucked his chair under the table with his leg. He clearly didn't wait for an answer, for he began walking towards the exit without looking back.

 

"Yeah, don't wait for me or anything.." John mumbled under his breath, walking briskly to catch up with Sherlock, who was walking much quicker than usual,

 

"Come on, then!" He called, twisting his head behind his shoulder, "Before the library gets full with other people!"

 

 

\--

 

 

The school library, as per usual, already had quite a few students either working or reading. But the library wasn't completely silent, there was still the quiet chatter of students talking to one another.

 

Sherlock was scanning the large bookshelf and lightly skimmed in fingers across the plastic-coated binders until he could find one that he wanted. He needed a textbook on the subject of Biology, although he had already read a majority of the books on the subject.

Just when he thought his luck was about to run out, he finally found a dark green, hardback textbook- and one he _hadn't_ read before.

 

"Perfect." He smirked to himself, taking the book from the shelf and began walking back to the table where John was already sitting.

 

However, he immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw someone else- someone else with long, ginger-blonde hair, pale grey eyes and wore a shortish, black skirt with the rest of her school uniform- leaning over the table and talking secretly to John, who listened attentively to what ever it was she was saying.

For a second, Sherlock wasn't sure what he was going to do; Should he wait until they finished talking? Should he go ahead and sit down?

He slowly walked back to his table, but by the time he had reached it, the girl had gone and Sherlock was able to sit back down next to John.

 

"So, do you know Sarah?" Sherlock asked with a hint of sarcasm, without glancing up at John.

 

"Oh, is that her name?" John asked back, taking his eyes off the distance and looking at Sherlock in front of him, who flicked through his Biology book until he got the page he wanted.

 

"Hm, I think so." Sherlock replied in a bored tone, trying  desperately to pretend that he didn't care. He _didn't_ care- why would he care? "Well, what did she want from you?"

 

"It was nothing- just wanted to ask a question about her English homework. Y'know, Shakespeare and stuff..." John answered, idly straightening his shirt and pulling it down from the hem, "I guess that would be the advantage of knowing people who are a year older than you, because they already know everything about the syllabus.."

 

"So _do_ you know her?" Sherlock asked again, this time there was no sarcasm in his voice but his tone was a bit harsher than he meant, enough so to make John quickly glance up at him.

 

"Well no, I don't  _know_ her as such. I'm just saying.. That if she, or really anybody, needed help with their work, then I'd help them.." John responded, rubbing the back of his neck. His uncomfortable posture made Sherlock realise that he was probably surprised - and maybe a bit shocked - from his sharp tone and he brought his gaze down awkwardly. What was _that_ random mood swing about?

 

"Oh, right.." Sherlock corrected himself, he ran his hand through the back of his dark brown curls and shuffled his feet subconsciously, "Anyway, I found the Biology book I was looking for.. What are you reading?"

 

And with that, John seemed to visibly relax. He slumped his shoulders back down and held up his book so Sherlock could look at the cover without John having to stop reading.

 

" _Jekyll and Hyde_ , hm?" Sherlock commented, he glanced up at John and saw him nodding with his eyes focused on the pages, "Any good?"

 

" _Very_ good," John smiled, flicking to the next page with one swift movement of his hand, "Imagine having something like that? Having two sides to you; one evil and one much kinder, expect your good side is so oppressed by your bad side that it takes over you? Would drive me crazy.."

 

"Yes, quite.." Sherlock mumbled, bringing his gaze downwards,  _'And it's only made worse when everyone expects the worst out of you; People think they know you from the_ _rumours_ _they hear, when they can't even tell how ignorant they are..'_ Sherlock added silently, imagining that it was best if John didn't hear..

 

"Well, they say it's a good book, so I figure you'd enjoy it.." Sherlock quickly said, filling in the silence before John could get suspicious, "But don't you have a test to study in a month?"

 

"Yeah, I'll study for it later.." John murmured, only half-listening to what Sherlock was saying.

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but a loud ringing drowned out his words. Within seconds, the library was alive with students moving out the doors for the next class.

 

"Are you staying in hear for your free period?" Sherlock asked, to which John vaguely nodded. Sherlock wasn't even sure if John was still in touch with the real world or not...

 

"Right... Well, I'll be studying for Biology then.." Sherlock forced himself to suppress the uncomfortable feeling inside him. He shivered slightly, as if the room temperature suddenly dropped.

 

_'Damn fucking draft..'_ he thought, distracting himself from the strange twinge in his stomach. He glanced out the window and watched the golden-brown leaves glide downwards in a spiral, but the empty feeling of dread and sudden hostility wouldn't go away...

 

It first came when he saw Sarah talking to John, but why did he feel so bitter about that? He didn't care- he was 100-percent  _sure_ he didn't care.. Yet the more he thought about it, the thought of John enjoying Sarah's company more than his, made his mouth twitch his  agitation. He didn't understand why he felt angry about the whole topic...

 

_'Am I_ _jealous_ _of Sarah? Because John might like her?'_ He thought suddenly, he casted a side-glance at John before turning back to his own book, only pretending to read,  _'No.. No, that's not right. I can't be just '_ _jealous_ _' of my friend having other friends, that's just not how it works. The only way I could be this angry over John liking Sarah would be if I liked.._ No! _'_

 

He quickly slammed his book shut, the sharp snap echoing through the entire room and making John jump in surprise. Sherlock stood from his seat and harshly pushed his chair underneath the desk, his actions rigid and stiff in frustration and hot energy.

 

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John asked, blinking up at Sherlock with shock and concern in his wide eyes.

 

"Nothing. I've just finished studying." Sherlock lied through a clenched jaw, not looking at John for a second. He picked up his bag from under the table and whisked it around his shoulder much harder than was necessary.

 

"Already? O-Okay.. So where are you going now?"

 

Sherlock pretended he didn't hear him. He kept his head down as he half-stormed out the library, with his eyes shut in a futile attempt to calm down. He briskly walked down the silent corridors, cursing himself inwardly with each strut,

 

"How many times do I have to say? I do _not_ like John that way.." He growled to himself, shaking the thoughts away, "I don't- I  _can't_ . I don't  _want_ to... Nothing good could come out of it..."

 

He didn't  like John.  _He couldn't like John._ All would go to Hell if he did otherwise...

 

_'If I ever got a crush on John... What would happen to us then?...'_

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

The breaking of dawn was a couple of hours away, and Sherlock woke up in the dark and in an uncomfortable position. He lazily turned his head towards his digital alarm clock and squinted his silver-coloured eyes at the time.

 

_'2:57am'_

 

He turned his head away and tried to re-arrange his body underneath his sheets, but his lower body felt.. Stiff, and weird. Like something wasn't right...

He sluggishly squirmed as his stomach felt fluttery and empty, even though he had only eaten a few hours ago during dinner, and his heart was beginning slowing down from a rapid speed.

Propping himself up with his elbow, he cautiously ran his hand down his duvet to see if there was something wrong- and what he discovered caused his weariness to evaporate in a single moment.

 

_'That can't be right..'_ He thought, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. He sat himself up and leant against his pillow while carefully pushing his duvet away from his groin area, and now his eyes were adjusted to the dark, he widened them in shock..

 

He looked down at his crimson-red pyjamas and immediately took notice of the large, unsubtle tent from behind his silky pyjama trousers.

 

"What the  _Hell_ was I dreaming about!?" He panicky whispered to himself in surprise. This has never happened before, and didn't know what caused it. He tentatively ran his hand over his half-hardened penis and felt himself shivering slightly. For a second he didn't know what to do about it.

 

He quickly glanced around his room but, unsurprisingly, found nothing that would be of any help at all. Except when his eyes took note of the small stack of books on his desk,

 

"Oh right, I need to give those back to John.."

 

_'John'_

 

Sherlock had to clamp his hand over his mouth the suppress the loud gasp that almost exhaled in to his mouth. Suddenly, his stomach started to flutter in arousal again, his heart began to beat furiously against his chest and the very thought of John's name sent an electrical bolt toward Sherlock's groin.

He closed his eyes and tried to recalled his latest dream; slowly at first, until he could remember almost every little detail..

 

He could remember the beautiful image of John kissing Sherlock's plush lips until his heavy breathing made it almost impossible, making John send a trail of soft kisses down the side of Sherlock's pale, slender neck.

The sound of moaning out John's name and whimpering as John glided his tongue across Sherlock's bare chest and over his sensitive, dusky-pink nipples.

And the alluring, pleasurable feel of John's lengthy, fully-harderned cock grinding over Sherlock's own...

..

 

"Oh, Christ.." He groaned to himself, feeling himself grow increasingly hot with embarrassment. Sherlock had only know John for just a few weeks- almost a month- and he was already having dirty dreams about him!?

 

Sherlock had never thought of anyone that way- or at least, he  _thought_ he didn't. He knew he was attracted to boys since he was thirteen, and even before then he at least knew that he didn't like girls. 

He has yet to actually tell anyone, though. Not even Mycroft knows officially (Although knowing him, he probably deduced it somehow). What would his parents even say? What would their opinion be if their son was homosexual?

 

At the age of seventeen, Sherlock could  _legally_ be kicked out. His next action then would be, of course, to go John. But then what would John say about the matter? Would John stop being friends with him if he knew that Sherlock could possibly be gay for him? Or worse, would he tell the whole school!?

 

The thought of a horrible demise of his entire life like that made Sherlock feel queasy, and this time it wasn't in arousal. However, even thinking about John in a  _negative_ light seemed to have an effect on Sherlock, for his erected cock was now throbbing and begged for a release.

And in a strange way, Sherlock did too. He  _could_ wait for about an hour for it to go away on it's own, or he could get rid of it using a much quicker method and give in to the tempting sexual sensations boiling inside of him...

 

He gingerly inched his hesitant hand towards his hard cock that was laying across his stomach, his hand subtly quivered as he knew how how plain  _wrong_ this sounded inside his head; Sherlock Holmes, about to touch himself over his only friend, just after dreaming about him in a way that would probably never happen in his lifetime...

 

"Ah, fuck it.."

 

His hand carefully glided over his sensitive penis before taking a soft and gentle grip around it. He bit his lip to stop himself from moaning and breathed heavily through his nose. Sherlock could hear his heart rushing blood to his ears as he began to slowly ease his hand up and down his erected dick.

 

His lips parted suddenly and his breaths quickly formed into quiet, quivering gasps. He closed his eyes and his mind gave in to all the mental images of John that Sherlock has kept since the day he met him:

John's silky, gold-blonde hair. His perfect, shimmering heather-navy eyes. His gorgeous, seductive smile that Sherlock would kill to see. His fit, rigid physique that was gained after months of exercise in a tight sports kit..

 

" _J-John_ .." Sherlock breathed shakily, taking care not to be too loud and wake up any of his family. He subconsciously bucked his hips and stroked himself harder, while rolling his head back in pure ecstasy. He had never known  _this_ much guilty pleasure in his life. A new serge of energy drove him to push himself to go faster,  _harder_ . His mind slipped into the image of Sherlock's hand being replace by John's, with his dark blue eyes half-closed and dilated in lust as he pumped his hand up and down Sherlock's rigid cock.

 

_'Oh God, that feels good. Yes, fucking_ yes _, John!'_

 

Sherlock continued for several minutes before he felt something change,

 

"O-Oh  _God!_ " He gasped quietly, a lustful shudder was sent down his spine. Despite his lack of experience, he knew he was about to come any second now. "Oh.. Oh  _John_ .."

 

Sherlock felt his chest tighten when a warm fluid shot on to his hand. A quivering, broken rasp exited his mouth as he lied down on his bed for a few moments, slowly recovering his breath.

 

His hand felt uncomfortable and clammy when it was covered in a cooling mess. Sherlock quickly rummaged through his bed-side draws until he found a half-empty box of tissues from when he was last ill.

Using a few of the tissues, he wiped himself clean and pulled his pyjamas back up before expertly throwing the used tissues straight into his bin.

 

He leant his head against his pillow, and a drowning wave of guilt crashed over him. Oh Jesus Christ, what did he just  _do!?_

 

"Oh no.." He sighed to himself, covering his face with his duvet, "I will never be able to get over that.."

 

_'That was a mistake, a huge bloody-fucking mistake..'_

 

How could he face John again now? How could he trust himself not to act suspicious or weird around him? Or worse, what if John somehow found out? What if Sherlock accidentally let a word out?

That, if not anything else, would _without a doubt_ break the relationship between Sherlock and John, and then his life would only go downhill after that...

 

The thought of John leaving him, along with the thought of John telling people the truth about Sherlock's sexuality (Which, knowing them, would be used against him to make his life even _more_ like Hell), was enough to make Sherlock's stomach twist in agony. Muscles spasmed inside him. He instinctively drew his legs up towards his chest and rested his hands against his painful stomach, hoping to calm it down. 

 

His actions were in vain, for a few seconds later he felt an uncomfortable, pulsing throb from inside him, and he knew exactly what that would lead to..

 

_'Oh, no..'_ He thought in a panic. He immediately jumped out of his bed and ran as fast as he could towards the bathroom, barely just making the toilet before acidic-scented bile exited his mouth in streams.

He didn't know how long he was sat there for - minutes, hours, who knew? - but continued to kneel before the toilet until he was certain enough that he his stomach was completely empty. He slowly pulled his shivering body up by grabbing onto the side of the sink, but anxiously looked away from his reflection in the mirror- he didn't want to see himself in the shameful state was in.

 

A few minutes later, he tottered out of the bathroom and tried to make his way back to his bedroom, with one arm still wrapped around his stomach.

He was almost blinded by the sudden ray of light that flashed through the corridor,

 

"Sherlock?" A groggy, tired voice called. Sherlock looked up and saw his brother, Mycroft, standing outside his own bedroom with his hand on the light switch ( _'That's where the light came from, then..'_ Sherlock thought)

 

"I just woke up to the sound of you being sick- a ghastly sound, I can assure you. Are you ill again?" Mycroft asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes using his silver-and-gold sleeve.

 

Sherlock shrugged, his eyes lowering to the ground, "I dunno. I woke up suddenly and I felt sick.." He lied- well,  _half_ of it was true; He did wake up, and he certainly did feel sick now...

 

Mycroft kept silent for a brief moment, and horror seeped through Sherlock when he wondered if Mycroft knew. If he just  _knew_ what Sherlock had done.

However, he showed no recognition of the truth when he spoke again,

 

"I see, go back to bed then and see how you are in the morning. Do you want me to get you anything?"

 

"No, I just need to sleep.." Sherlock declined, making his way back to his bedroom without looking at Mycroft once. When he got back, he closed the door behind him. A few seconds later heard the sound of a  _click_ and everything was dark again.

 

He blindly crept into his bed and pulled the covers over him, praying that he might be able to just forget about it in the morning, but with the way his stomach still squeezed, he doubted he'd be able to sleep again until the next day..

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus, I don't have a lot for time for writing but I do try and polish my chapters as much as possible.
> 
> Anyway, here we are :)

 

Sherlock's mind was almost overwhelmed by the tired, yet intolerably loud, voices of students in the school corridors passing by him.

 

He opened his school locker before pulling out his bag and hanging it on his right shoulder by the strap in one swift, smooth movement. He closed his eyes as he tried to calm himself down, repeating to himself over and over that he shouldn't get so worked up over something that hardly meant anything- In fact, it didn't matter at all. Sherlock doesn't care, why should he care? He tried so desperately hard to just brush it off..

 

"Hey, Sherlock!" A familiar voice called from afar. Sherlock lifted his head up by instinct and scanned around. His eyes snapped to a heather-eyed, blonde-haired boy briskly walking over to him, and although his smile was bright, his eyes were concerned.

 

"Where have you been these last few days?" He asked. To which Sherlock shrugged and carefully closed his locker door.

 

"I've been ill," He replied, not even able to look at John. He shuffled his foot awkwardly as he could almost see John nod in understanding from the corner of his eye.

 

Well, at least Sherlock's excuse wasn't a total lie- He did feel slightly ill, but it wasn't the main reason. His main reason was because he couldn't trust himself to look at John without his body having an unwanted reaction of some sort, not since he had _that_ dream about him.

Sherlock forced the memory to the back of his head, he couldn't afford to think about stuff like that, especially during school.

 

At least his parents were flexible with the idea of letting Sherlock a few days off school, possibly because the last time he was ill he had to go to hospital for a while. As a child, Sherlock was always in hospital for some kind of accident or illness; , a horrible case of Meningitis that almost left him on Death's doorstep.. Sherlock spent a majority of his childhood in a hospital bed, where all he could do was read books and deduce people who walked by. It was painful, lonely and absolutely terrifying.

 

"Oh, well I'm glad you're better now," John said genuinely, his smile still wide, "You know, it's been rather boring without you.. And I was kind of worried, too."

 

"That's nice of you, but you really don't have to be.." Sherlock muttered, feeling himself grow warm and fluttery over the thought of John thinking and being worried about him, "Anyway, I'm fine now.."

 

Apart from the small pinch of embarrassment, Sherlock had no physical reaction to John standing in front of him like he thought he would. Sherlock gave an inward sigh of relief,

 

_'Good, now I can be around him without being as awkward..'_ He thought. He brought his gaze back up to John and cleared his throat,

 

"So what have you got this morning?" He asked, his hands stuffed inside his tight jean pockets.

 

"Well, it's Thursday today so.. I have Biology, Maths, Double PE, Sociology and... One free period.." He slowly recalled, lifting his gaze up as he tried to remember.

 

"Hm. Dull.." Sherlock growled. He pursed his lips in a tight line as he tried to think, then a bright idea came to him and he smiled mischievously,

 

"Have you ever skived off school before?"

 

"No.."

 

"Then follow me and we'll have the day off!"

 

Sherlock turned around and was about to walk before John grabbed the white sleeve of his tight, buttoned shirt,

 

"Hang on, Sherlock!" John protested, keeping a firm grip on Sherlock, "We can't just walk out of school! We'll get in trouble!"

 

"Hah, what are the teachers going to do? Call the police because two students who aren't even required to be here by law have taken the day off?" Sherlock scoffed sarcastically, "Oh come on, John. Everybody knows a student has to skive off school at _least once_ in their lives, it's the law of being a teenager!"

 

John opened his mouth the reply, but then closed it again. He let go of Sherlock's sleeve and frowned in a deep thought. He fiddled with the strap of his bag before speaking again,

 

"Alright, I guess.." He mumbled, but then shot a glare up at Sherlock, "But if we get caught outside of school, then I'm blaming you!"

 

"Seems like a fair deal," Sherlock commented before walking towards the school exit, leaving John to follow him. He swung open the glass double-doors outside, the cool early-autumn breeze cooled his face, "And it's fine; I've done it loads of times, sometimes you just need a break off school once in a while..."

 

_'And sometimes, it's just nice to be away from those people..'_ Sherlock thought silently. He would never admit it to anyone, but there are a few occasions where he just can't bring himself to enter a place where he knows he'll get treated like he was a rancid parasite, and he doesn't get  _nearly_ enough credit for not going down the gruesome path of killing everyone...

 

 

\---

 

Around half an hour later, John and Sherlock were still strolling around the city centre. Despite it being still early in the morning, the streets were already alive with people in their own little worlds; Some were strutting quickly down the path in grey suits, a few older teenagers were leaning against a wall in their oversized hoodies and their bags of supplies of which did _not_ look legal, but most were just casual people who were possibly out shopping or maybe for an entirely different reason.

 

Sherlock brought out his phone to check the time and heard a strong voice behind him,

 

"What time is it?"

 

Sherlock turned his head and noticed that John was falling a bit behind, half lost in his own thought, so he slowed down until John was walking beside him,

 

"It's 9 o'clock," Sherlock stated, stuffing his phone back into his pocket, "Lessons should be starting now. Heh, pretty comforting to know that they're all stuck in one place, while I'm pretty much miles away and untouchable.."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Hm?" Sherlock's eye subtly widened when he realised what he just said out loud, "Oh, it's nothing.. Just some metaphorical stuff.."

 

John eyed him suspiciously, as if he didn't fully believe him. He halted in his tracks, and when Sherlock stopped as-well; he could see that John was about to be serious about something,

 

"Sherlock..." He began sternly, ".. Do Anderson and those lot still bully you?"

 

Sherlock's heart pounded nervously against his chest, he looked down at the ground and awkwardly kicked away a small pebble,

 

"No. Well, yeah.. Maybe.." He muttered, his voice low and barely audioable, "It doesn't matter, anyway."

 

"Yes it _does_ , Sherlock!" John protested immediately, straightening his back and holding his head up, "It matters to me, and you know it. Even if you don't care yourself!"

 

Sherlock didn't look up. He continued to stare at the ground and prayed that John would drop the subject; He doesn't want to talk about it, not even with him.

John took notice of Sherlock refusal to speak, and sighed quietly,

 

"Sherlock, listen.." He said softly, his tone gentle and comforting, like how someone would speak to their loved one, "Look, I'm just concerned about you- and don't say that I shouldn't be, because that won't stop me. If anyone, and I don't care who it is, is  _ever_ being mean to you again, then I  _will_ get to them. You know I would." 

 

_'Good luck taking on the entire school, then..'_ Sherlock thought silently. He pretended to stare at a dog crossing the road with it's owner, his stomach clenched nausably tight.

 

"And you really mean it?" Sherlock asked, his tense shoulders starting to ache.

 

"Yes, of course I do, Sherlock." John replied, not sounding frustrated or impatient at Sherlock's doubt. Sherlock's breath jumped in his throat when he felt a soft, warm touch of his arm, he turned to John who had his hand resting gently on Sherlock's arm. He was subtly shivering, was John cold?

 

"I will never let anything hurt you, Sherlock." He murmured to himself. He opened his mouth slightly to speak again, but then quickly shut it.

 

Sherlock tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn't concentrate on John's words. His heart hammered in his chest, not like a butterfly fluttering its wings, but like a Great Bear was trying to ram it's way out of his ribcage. John's touch was so gentle, and yet it sent a wave of fire through Sherlock's body and mind. A thousand thoughts and emotions merged into one. There was nothing but the dull pound of his heart. Nothing but him and John. Standing together like it should be.

 

"Sherlock, are you feeling alright?"

 

"Y-Yeah, yeah I feel.. I feel.." Sherlock couldn't find the correct word. He felt happy but oh so terrified. He felt like he could run for miles, but couldn't move an inch. He felt something he's always known, but he couldn't recognise it... "I feel great. Thank you, John."

 

John gave a small nod and smiled, probably forgetting his hand was still on Sherlock. After the silence dragged on for what seemed hours, John suddenly blinked in realisation and recoiled his hand away. He said nothing and continued walking down the street with his face turned away,

 

"Let's just... Carry on walking."

 

 

\---

 

 

 

When the warm sun sat in the centre of the sky and when the crowds began to enlarge, Sherlock and John decided to take a break from walking and stopped off at a fast-food place in the middle of the city centre. The restaurant was mildly busy, the brightly painted walls echoed the lazy chatter of the costumers inside.

 

Sherlock forced himself to swallow his half-chewed bite too finish off the burger he ordered; He wasn't particularly hungry, but he was exhausted after hours of browsing through shops. He had yet to actually buy something of his tastes, but he had the lingering thought that John wasn't over-joyed to being dragged through a large, crowded centre.

 

"So.. A month." Sherlock began vagley, causing John to look up at him in confusion, "A month since you've joined this school. What do you think?"

 

"It's alright, I suppose. Got a few dickheads here and there, but it was better than my old school..." John replied just as limply, staring through the large window at nothing in particular.

 

"So what's been happening at school while I was away?" Sherlock asked, thinking that it was a good start to a conversation with John.

 

John wiped his mouth with his pale orange jumper before speaking,

 

"Nothing much, really. " He answered, shrugging his shoulders, "Oh, but Sebastian’s arm has healed, so you might want to stay out of his way. It was boring not being able to talk to you, though, so I just hung around with Sarah for a bit.."

 

Sherlock tried to suppress his sigh of disappointment; he didn't want to hear about a girl that John had been hanging out with. However, Sherlock figured he hid his disinterest pretty well, because John carried on talking,

 

"She's quite nice, actually. Pretty, too. It turns out we have a lot in common; we even have plans organised, this weekend." He smiled slightly, "It should be fun."

 

"Good for you.." Sherlock replied, a little more sarcastically than he intended.

 

John noticed the minute coldness in Sherlock's tone, and turned his gaze on him,

 

"You don't care if I find another person good-looking, do you?"

 

"No.." Sherlock lied. He didn't. He mentally shook his thoughts away, he shouldn't be bitter about his friend having plans with someone else, so why was he so jealous again all of a sudden?

 

John blinked at Sherlock and kept his stare for a brief heartbeat, before turning his attention back to the window he was absent-mindedly gazing out of,

 

"Oh right. Okay, then.." He mumbled quietly, as if he was half-talking to himself, but then a second later he whipped his face back to Sherlock,

 

"Is she she mean or something?" He asked, his heather eyes wide, but Sherlock shook his head,

 

"No, she isn't, she just.. Well, she doesn't really talk to me at all," He responded, and saw John visibly relax, "She just kinda ignores me, really."

 

"Oh, good.." John sighed in relief. closing his eyes for a heartbeat before re-opening them, "So do you want to get going now, or are you still eating?"

 

"No, no. I've finished ages ago.." Sherlock shook his head, standing up from his seat and grabbing his bag which was left underneath the table, "Let's get going then."

 

 

John and Sherlock left and immediately walked back into the busy city of London. The fresh. autumn wind hit Sherlock in the face and he let the drift of the breeze carry his jealous thoughts away, he didn't have time for feelings like that. He was with John, and he wanted every moment with him to be left unhampered with..

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i want to crei

 

 

The cool, evening breeze brushed through John's golden-canary hair. He closed his eyes and indulged himself in the pleasant feel of the changing season while half-listening to Sherlock ramble on about his Physics lesson- The two had just finished school and both decided to walk home together on the last school day- and John's personal favourite day- of the week

John re-opened his eyes and, if he could strain his ears hard enough, he could almost hear the loud music blasting through one of Sherlock's earphones which was dangling on the front of Sherlock's dark grey coat, while the other one was tucked into his ear.

 

"Any plans this weekend?" John asked, his hands stuffed into his darkish blue hoodie and his head gazing up at Sherlock.

 

"Hm?" Sherlock asked, taking out his earphone out of his ear and glancing at John with a blank stare. A few seconds later, he understood what John had just asked, "Oh right. No, I don't have anything planned; homework, probably. Might look at some Universities... After all, this is our final year before the end of our A-levels...”

 

John was about to speak, but then stopped himself when he noticed that Sherlock placed his earbud back into his ear after he spoke, meaning he wouldn't even pay any attention to John. Sherlock then drew out his Pink-cased phone out of his jean pocket and attentively scrolled down his playlist of music, choosing which one to listen to next.

 

"You strange music tastes..." John commented, glancing at Sherlock's phone, then back at him.

 

Sherlock smirked a little and shrugged, "I like a lot of genres," He replied, not looking up from his phone, "These just happen to be a few of my favourites think you'd like a few of them if you listened to them...”

 

"Um... Maybe later, thanks...” John declined. He wasn't much into music himself, although Sherlock seemed to be quite a fan. "But one band I do like is-"

 

He was suddenly cut off when he tripped over and landed face-first into the pavement. His hands stung from the impact and he hissed under his breath as he sat himself up, rubbing his newly-wounded leg. John guessed they'd be a graze underneath his trousers, which hopefully wasn't bleeding.

 

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asked, stopping in front of John and turning his head around and glancing at him. John quickly nodded,

 

"Fine...” He hissed again. He glanced at this foot and found the cause of his accident- he tripped over his bloody shoelace! ( _'Oh God, Sherlock must think I'm an idiot...’_ John thought) "You go ahead, Sherlock. I'll just tie myself...”

 

Sherlock obeyed and carried on walking. He stuffed his other earphone into his ear and mindlessly whistled to the tune of his chosen song. John quickly tied up his dirty-white shoelaces before jumping straight back onto his feet, ignoring the acute burn on his leg.

 

He looked up and noticed that Sherlock was a bit in front of him, but only a few meters away from the edge of the pavement to cross the road. In the distance, John could hear the noise of a truck skimming down the road which they were about to walk across, but when he turned his head towards the direction of the sound, he realised it was much closer than he thought.

He began to briskly walk towards Sherlock, and he assumed that Sherlock _must_ have heard the truck coming and stopped at the edge of the pavement, waiting for it to pass.

 

But he didn't.

 

He carried on walking onto the road. With no regard for the incoming truck.

 

"Sherlock!" John shouted loudly, picking up his pace to a run. Completely forgetting his aching leg. He then realised that Sherlock couldn't hear a damn _thing_ with those earphones in.

 

Not John shouting.

 

Not the truck coming straight towards him.

 

Probably wouldn't be able to hear his own scream...

 

"Oh God, _no!_ " John rasped in pure hysteria. He sprinted towards Sherlock. His heart pounding with adrenalin and fear. The truck only several meters away. He closed his eyes and instantly lunged himself at Sherlock. For a few moments, he was too afraid to reopen his eyes when he felt himself land on the ground, but he could feel Sherlock wrapped around his arms, and he held tightly.

 

"John?.. John!"

 

Sherlock's voice snapped John back into reality. He blankly looked around. The truck was blaring in the distance. He turned to Sherlock, who looked shocked, but was uninjured. They were safe.

 

John gave a long, shaky sigh of relief. He loosened his grip around Sherlock's body, but he kept a firm hand on Sherlock's arm as the two nervously scrambled from the road and back onto the other side of the pavement. John was the first to speak,

 

"Fucking _Hell_ , Sherlock!" His voice sounded like a mixture of a frightened squeak and an angry scolding, "How could you _not_ hear that truck coming? You could have _died!_ " His voice broke at the word 'died', his spine tingled in horror at that scenario. What would he do if Sherlock left him like that? He'd barely be able to carry on...

 

"You... You saved my life...” Sherlock whispered in shock with his eyes wide and clouded in distress, "And you could have died, too! You would have been caught under the truck as well if I was...”

 

John scanned Sherlock's face, and immediately took note of how pale and shivery we was now; John figured he had learnt his lesson not to cross roads without checking for vehicles first.

 

"Are you hurt?" John asked, still panting for breath. Sherlock quickly shook his head and John drew himself up, "Good, let's get going, then...”

 

John's injury seemed to have vanished, for John could hardly feel a thing when he walked beside Sherlock. His body quivered at the aftermath and he kept his head down, thinking to himself.

 

For that split second, when John thought he was about to see Sherlock be killed, John felt nothing inside him but to protect him at all costs- even sacrificing his life to save him. When John's mind flashed with the thought of Sherlock being taken away from him, John could hardly imagine carrying on like normal, like he _only_ just lost his best friend. For John, it hurt like Sherlock was more than that- not only as a friend, but... Just something more. Something so much more...

 

_'I guess I really do care for him that much....’_ John figured silently, barely bringing himself to look up at Sherlock, _'I never even realised. Would I have done that for anyone else? For Harriet? Most likely, she is my sister after all... For Sarah, though?..'_ He blinked, realising he couldn't even answer his own question...

 

John then stopped and placed his hand on Sherlock's arm as an indication for him to stop too,

 

"Sherlock, listen to me," His tone suddenly grew deep and serious, "You have to promise to _never_ do anything like that again- which includes walking into roads when you're unable to see or hear if a giant truck is coming straight towards you, alright?"

 

_'I can't bring myself to imagine you dying. You can't let that happen, please...'_ He added silently, although he thought it was best if he kept it to himself.

 

"I-I promise, John...” Sherlock replied, swallowing hard. He suddenly brought his gaze down, "I guess I would have died if it wasn't for you... So... Thanks."

 

John stifled a soft chuckle before lowering his hand back to his side. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled,

 

"It's fine, just... Just don't let it happen again, Okay?.."

 

"Okay."

 

John saw that Sherlock was still shivering from before. Not surprising, considering the shock that must have imploded inside him when he realised that he was only seconds away from having his spine snapped in half from a '30-mile-per-hour' lorry and he didn't even know..

 

John bit his lip before carefully sliding his hands back into his pockets. He mindlessly kicked a pebble on the ground before opening his mouth to speak,

 

"So... Do you want to grab a coffee or something from the cafe?" He offered, half-lifting his head up in an attempt to seem confident, "...Y'know, to celebrate the weekend?"

 

"Sounds great." Sherlock smiled, blinking warmly at John. And then, just for a second, John felt like everything was just suddenly OK....

 

(Haha no the happy part is over it’s time for death)

 

\---

 

For Sherlock, the weekend came and went in what felt like only a mere matter of hours. Granted, he spent most of it completing the days’ worth of homework that was due, and his concentrated state left him with little time to do other things like go outside or even eat.

 

One thing he did look out for, was John. Whether it was a text, or a phone call, or anything. Unfortunately, John kept silent for the whole of the weekend, and Sherlock wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not...

 

It was Monday morning, exactly 8:45am. Sherlock leant against the richly painted cream walls of the 6th Form Common Room, burying his head in a book on Psychology.

He only looked up when he heard the creaking sound of the room doors gently opening, as if the person who opened them was afraid to make too much noise. Enticed with curiosity, he glanced to the side and saw a familiar blonde-haired, navy-eyed boy.

 

Sherlock noticed immediately that John was anxious, or at least upset, about something. He dug his hands into his pockets and quickly glanced around.

 

"John?" Sherlock called, fully lifting his head away from his book. John looked up at him, with a surprised look in his eyes that made Sherlock wonder if he had even seen him when he entered the room.

 

After a brief hesitation, John slowly half-dragged himself towards Sherlock. He bit his lip around and his brow furrowed in deep thought. Yes, something was defiantly wrong.

 

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, arching his eyebrow. Did his weekend with Sarah not go well? Did someone threaten him? No, if someone dared to threaten John Watson- an Expelled Military student with a nasty habit of 'accidentally' breaking people's arms in fights- then they'd be funerals to plan, "...Is it Sarah?"

 

"Well... Um, it's kind of like that...” John mumbled, he paused for a few seconds and looked up at Sherlock, "Listen, Sarah told me that you called her an idiot for getting a 'C' on a maths exam, and even though she was clearly upset, you refused to apologise to her... Is that true?"

 

Sherlock glanced up in thought; He had called many people idiots before, so he had to properly burrow through his memory until he remembered an event like that- which happened before the Summer holidays- occurring.

 

"Oh yeah, I remember now." He said at last, bringing his gaze back down, "It happened last year, during Year Twelve. Hmph, I'd have thought she'd enough self-pride not cry in front of the whole class about it...”

 

John drooped his shoulders and gave out a weary sigh in despair. He dropped his head downwards and shook it,

 

"Sherlock, she was really ashamed of getting a low grade in the first place. I think what set her off was the fact that you pointed it out," John looked up at Sherlock again, and in his eyes was a strange mixture of disappointment and anger, "Plus, you didn't even say sorry to her.."

 

"Well, why should I?" Sherlock protested, narrowing his cat-like eyes slightly, "It wasn't my fault she failed horribly, I was only merely describing what happened. If someone can't deal with the truth, then it's their problem, not mine."

 

"Right, first of all, getting a C in a test is not 'failing horribly'. Secondly, it wasn't necessary to say it out loud and embarrass her. Thirdly-" He then broke off, his waved his hand in front of him and shook his head angrily, "...Fuck it. If you really don't care, then forget it." He added sharply, each syllable cutting his tongue, "Just... Forget it. I'll apologise for her, then."

 

Without waiting for Sherlock to reply, John spun around and exited the room. He didn't even look back at Sherlock, and he could tell that John was angry at him. For a brief moment, Sherlock felt somewhat compelled to follow him, but he then discarded the idea when he realised that it wasn't John he'd have to apologise to, it was Sarah, and Sherlock didn't feel like he wanted to do that.

 

'He's right, just forget it.' He told himself, getting back to his book, 'You don't have time to deal with stuff like that'

 

 

\---

 

_'Urg, Tuesdays....’_ Sherlock thought bitterly, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he leant back on a chair in the Common Room. His spine bent backwards and his arms stretched outwards. It was barely the start of the day, and Sherlock already hated it...

 

He was suddenly awoken by the loud crashing of a door being swung open at a great force. He sat up straight and turned his head towards the direction of the sound, where he saw John Watson, and Sherlock had hardly seen him looked so angry before...

 

Sherlock visibly flinched when John snapped his cold glare at him, as if John was on the edge on shooting Sherlock right in the stomach.

He wasted no time in marching up to Sherlock and narrowed his navy-coloured eyes in intense resentment towards him.

 

"In what Universe do you think it's acceptable to do something like that!?" John snarled, probably unware at the several heads that were turned towards him.

 

"Excuse me?" Sherlock huffed, craning his neck back in shock. What was John going on about? How could someone have the energy to be so worked up over something so early in the morning?

 

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about!" John spat, his fists clenched into a painful lock and his pupils were slanted his fury, "You can't just go up to someone and just _casually mention_ that their boyfriend is cheating on them as if it's no big deal! What kind of cold Human Being do you have to be to just do something like _that!?_ "

 

Sherlock kept John's glare for a moment later, before turning it away in irritation, resting the tip of his fingers against his head

 

"Oh, I get it now." He sighed irritably, "You're mad because of what I said to Jane, as if it even _relates_ to you." He whipped his hostile leer back at John, "Why would you even care? What I've said to people before never bothered to you before, how is this time different!?"

 

"Because you blissfully announced to her that her boyfriend, and she didn't even know! Do you even know how fucking _distraught_ she was when she found out something like that from someone she barley knows!?" His body quivered and his breaths transformed into short, furious pants through his teeth, "Sarah and I spent _hours_ last night comforting her, and you're still unaffected by what you say like always! Also, it matters to me because Jane is Sarah's friend, and I like her!"

 

"Yes, and we've _all_ figured that out!" Sherlock snapped, jumping up onto his feet and staring down at John, his jaw clenched against his teeth. Suddenly, all the pent up emotions- Jealousy, anger, loneliness- all came pouring out in quick, spiteful bursts, "It doesn't even take a genius to notice the way you look at her all the time. Why should I care about somebody I don't even like!?"

 

_"_ Because I don't want to be friends with someone as cold and heartless as you!" John thundered, his face already tinted with a shade of red, breathing heavily and his eyes showing nothing but enraged fury.

 

John's noxious words caused Sherlock to take a step back, his eyes widened in shock.

 

"Fine, don't let me be a burden on you." Sherlock simply, like any emotion inside him had evaporated. He snatched his bag off the floor and crashed his way out the room, not even looking at John again. As he pushed his way through the crowds and lowered his head down, forcing himself to ignore the wretched ache in his heart that shattered with every step. He wanted to do nothing but collapse on the floor in front of him, feeling like nobody would even care if they found him lying on the floor.

 

After all, there was only one person in this world that cared about Sherlock, and now that person just outright said that they didn't even like Sherlock as a friend anymore...

 

He was hated by the only person he wanted to be with...

 


End file.
